


One last refrain

by Ostodvandi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Established Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Kidfic, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi
Summary: Felix leaves him behind twice, disappearing into the snowy hills of Gautier. One year later, however, he reappears, sick and blind, bringing a newborn child with him.This might just be their very last chance to find the happiness they thought to be lost forever.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 36
Kudos: 135
Collections: Sylvix Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of my sylvix big bang! This sure was an ordeal, but it's done, and I had the enormous pleasure of collabing with the incredible [ghostcandies](https://twitter.com/ghostcandies) for this project. Their art is all kinds of amazing and cool and you should definitely check it out.
> 
> Please, beware of the tagged warnings. Especially in the first half, there is going to be a LOT of suicidal ideation, most of it on Felix's part. There IS going to be a 100% happy ending, but it's going to take a while. 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy!

The wind moves his hair and the tassels on his mortal savant ensemble, and the snow falls before his eyes, some of it landing on the mask he wears to protect his face. His hand rests on the handle of his sword as he watches the boss of their mercenary band negotiate prices with Sylvain, although it doesn't last long; apparently, the margrave doesn't care that much about money as long as he has someone to help him out with some bandits in the mountains. 

He sighs. How pathetic, that a man like him has turned to mercenaries for a bunch of thieves that will probably die on their own in the Gautier range.

When the negotiations are done, he turns around. He should work on sharpening one of his swords again, dulled after so much work. And then, he could…

'Felix.'

Out of instinct and painful habit, he reacts to that name, even if he hasn't used it for a while. Thankfully, Sylvain has waited until the other mercenaries were scattered to call him.

He grabs his wrist. 'Felix. Please, look at me. I know it's you.'

And so he does: looks up at Sylvain’s pained face and tired eyes. 'What do you want?' he asks dryly.

'To talk.'

Felix sighs, wondering just how many difficult things can hide behind two words as simple as that. He’d much rather leave things untouched, in a place where they can’t hurt him anymore. Buried away on the back of his mind. 

But Sylvain sure loved to make things difficult for both of them. ‘About what?’

‘About… what happened.’

Felix turns around in an attempt to finish the conversation and go back to taking care of his blade. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You were the first to tell me I’m not,’ Sylvain’s voice turns more serious, and something about it tugs at Felix’s heartstrings. ‘At least let me see your face.’

Felix huffs, wondering if his whining will ever stop. But he can do the last thing Sylvain asked of him, so he takes off the mask. ‘Are you happy now? I have a job to do. That you hired me for.’

‘...Yes.’ Sylvain’s shoulders fall, and his serious expression softens. ‘I’m sorry.’

And so he is finally free to go and take care of his sword. He puts the mask back on and sits down with a whetstone and his dulled edge. One of his fellow mercenaries sits by his side, a young woman he hasn’t had the chance to talk to often and whose name he can’t even remember. 

‘Hey, do you know the margrave?’ He doesn’t reply, wanting to focus on his sword and hoping it’d make her go away. She must be quite new if she doesn’t know he is the loner type. ‘I’ve rarely seen you take off your mask for anything that isn’t eating.’

Felix huffs. She just won’t go away and leave him alone, will she? ‘He’s an acquaintance.’

‘Oooh, have you worked for him before?’

Can’t she take a hint? He wants to be left alone. ‘Sort of.’

She tilts her head. ‘Sort of?’

‘None of your business,’ he finally says, raising his voice just a little. ‘Leave or stay silent.’

She blinks, probably baffled by his rudeness, and stays by his side for a minute before deciding to leave. Good, because he really needs to focus on sharpening his blade, but now she’ll probably spread gossip around about that scene from earlier. Why did he even listen to Sylvain? That was a stupid thing to do. Sylvain has always pushed him to do stupid things. 

* * *

There are more mortal savants in the mercenary band, but Sylvain only needs a look to recognize Felix among them. Sylvain had grown up watching him swing his sword and perfect his unique footwork, and Sylvain’s memory was good, for better or worse. He also knows most of Felix’s weak points, especially during battle. Five years and a half of fighting a war together aren’t for nothing, and even after so many months, they still tend to fight like back then.

Bandits ambush them on their way back, but the battle is swift and easy. Despite their numbers, these are ragged bandits, a far cry from the highly trained imperial soldiers he had to fight in the past. Felix cuts through them easily, and Sylvain follows him on horseback, away from the rest of the band, the lance in his hand taking care of the ones who remain in Felix’s trail. 

Peace reigns back on the path, and the heavy breaths of the mercenary band and the whines of the wounded are the only sound Sylvain can hear. However, there is an odd feeling on the nape of Sylvain’s neck, hairs raised in alert.

Perhaps he’s just being too wary.

‘Could this be all of them?’ Felix murmurs, looking around, sword still in hand. 

‘Maybe,’ Sylvain responds, wrinkling his nose. ‘But I doubt it.’ The reports from the soldiers posted at the border talked about too many bandits for this to be all of them. He looks up at the snowy hills surrounding their path, and sees…

‘Felix!’

An arrow flies in Felix’s direction, whistling right by his ear as Sylvain pushes him towards himself. The swordmaster stumbles, and as soon as he’s mildly steady on his feet he shoots a thoron spell in the archer’s direction.

The person, unfortunately, escapes, and one of the mercenaries gets closer to the arrow buried in the snow. 

‘We’re lucky we brought you with us, margrave. Even if I thought it was a crazy man’s idea at first,’ he laughs, picking up the arrow. ‘We could’ve lost our most efficient fighter otherwise… Ah, as I thought.’

‘What is it?’ Felix asks, walking away from Sylvain.

‘A poisoned arrow.’

Sylvain frowns. ‘We’ll discuss this later. For now, I’d rather arrive home before it gets too late.’

‘Understood,’ the leader of the mercenary band says. ‘We’ll take care of our wounds and continue the march.’

* * *

They arrive at the Gautier citadel shortly before nightfall, the ideal moment for Sylvain to invite Felix’s mercenary band for some drinks. Around them, the sounds of the crowd are deafening, but it doesn’t really matter, because Felix doesn’t speak. He hasn’t spoken a word to him since the poisoned arrow incident, avoiding even looking in his direction the whole way back, and Sylvain would like to think it’s because he’s been lost in his own thoughts. Sylvain watches him take a sip and put the glass away with a bored expression.

‘So,’ he starts, trying to get his attention. ‘They’re not that friendly, huh?’

‘Who cares,’ Felix groans, but Sylvain is just happy that he even replied. And his point stands: none of Felix’s comrades even tried to check if he was alright back there. ‘I’m not here because I want to make friends.’

‘Yeah, that makes sense… And you were never very good at that,’ Sylvain takes his own sip, ignoring how heavy his tone was. He’d aimed for a more teasing voice, something that might just spark an actual reaction from Felix. Anything that could change the expression on his face, revealing something of the man underneath all these layers of bitterness. The man Sylvain has been in love with since he had a memory of what love was. ‘After this mission is done, where are you all going?’

‘Who knows,’ Felix huffs, tapping on the glass with his index finger and resting his face on his other hand. ‘My job is…’

‘Just to fight people, slash them down. I know.’

‘Then why do you ask…’ His voice turns lower as he speaks, ending in a barely audible murmur. Sylvain stares at him, at the hair he has been growing out ever since the last time they met, now styled into a messy bun, at the neck he’s kissed many times before, the man he has daydreamed about more times than he could bother counting.

‘Felix.’ 

‘Hm?’ He turns to him, and there must be something about Sylvain’s expression that makes Felix’s eyes widen. ‘What?’

‘Do you want to leave?’

It’s a loaded question, and Felix knows it. He knows Sylvain’s voice and words like he knows the edge of his sword and the palm of his hand. Nobody is looking at them, focused on celebrating something Sylvain couldn’t give less of a damn about, so it’s the perfect time to slip away without anyone noticing. 

After what feels like an eternity of hesitation, Felix gets off his chair, and Sylvain follows, taking a look back at the group of half-drunk mercenaries they’re leaving behind. They walk three steps, and their fingers intertwine like their hands were made to hold each other. 

The way to the manor is quick and familiar, and the look on the servant’s face is the usual as well. This is one of the new ones: he doesn’t know what Felix looks like, he doesn’t know this is the missing duke Fraldarius that his lord is bringing home tonight, and it’s better like this.

He’s used to the feeling of people taking off his clothes, but Felix’s hands behave differently. They’re calloused and rough, but they hold Sylvain’s face like he’s a treasure. Sylvain’s fingertips find new scars on Felix’s skin from the battles he must have been through in this year apart, away from home and his arms. Felix lays on Sylvain’s bed and his midnight sky hair pours on the pillow like a hundred rivers, as Sylvain’s hands take their turn properly undressing him.

Felix rarely looks at him in the eyes, but as long as he is here, as long as he stays, Sylvain can live with it. He can live with Felix’s terrifying silences if he can see and touch him every day. That would be enough to satisfy him completely.

He comes undone to the sound of Felix whispering his name, and his arms wrap around his lover’s body, keeping him as close as he can be.

‘I love you,’ he whispers, not for the first or second time this night, but beyond the exhaustion, his words feel different. ‘I love you, Fe,’ he repeats, kissing Felix’s shoulder. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he begs, ‘please.’

Felix doesn’t answer before Sylvain falls asleep.

* * *

As if he could stay.

Spending the night was already enough of a mistake. Reopening wounds he had so carefully knit shut was too much of a mistake. Reliving feelings he was supposed to leave behind in his new life was a hell of a mistake.

So he has to leave, he decides as soon as he opens his eyes to Sylvain’s sleeping face. It doesn’t matter how peaceful he looks, how lovely it feels to wake up surrounded by his warmth despite the cold, how tightly Sylvain holds him; the way nobody else has and never will. 

None of that matters, because Felix chose a path, and he must follow it to the bitter end. Because he doesn’t deserve the warmth or the love after all he has done. He didn’t even deserve to give himself this night with Sylvain to begin with. 

He slides out of his arms, stopping when he hears him groan. He sounds like he’s in pain, but Felix ignores it and searches for his clothes, putting them on with the same quick and efficient movements of every morning he wakes up in the other mercenaries’ company. No time to waste on useless contemplations.

And yet, his hands are shaking and his eyes hurt, just like the first time he left. He looks back at the bed, just to pick up the ribbon to tie his hair with, and his eyes find Sylvain again. They take in the image of him, soundly asleep, nothing but candlelight dancing on the shadows of his body and making his hair look like flames.

_ You can still stay _ , Sylvain would probably tell him. But he can’t, and he would never understand it.

And if this is the last thing he sees of Sylvain, he can be content with that.

* * *

He didn’t expect anything else, being honest with himself. However, seeing the other side of his bed empty - a sight that’s usually a relief - hurts. It hurts like someone has torn a limb from his body because Felix has decided to leave again. Because Sylvain wasn’t enough for him once more. 

Sylvain rolls over on the bed, lying on his back, and sighs. Hours later, the mercenaries finish their mission to cut down the bandits that had been terrorizing Gautier. From one of the windows of the manor, on the second floor, Sylvain spots Felix’s blue mortal savant attire and looks away.


	2. Chapter 2

A blizzard rages on outside the Gautier manor that night, distracting Sylvain’s exhausted mind away from the letter in front of him. He hates the sight of his desk at the moment, at least eight books on Srengi culture open on it without any sort of order, like a puzzle he can’t piece together just yet, but he has to. He can’t make a single mistake when things are as tense and promising as now, when lasting peace with the north feels so damn close. The feat the previous generation never achieved. He takes off his reading glasses and rubs his eyes, dropping his shoulders, and revises the letter again. 

But before he’s done with the first line he gets distracted by the howling winds again, and he takes it as a clue to just stop for today. He still has two weeks to send this letter to be sure it’ll arrive on time, so he can take it easy for today and just go to sleep. Tomorrow he’ll have more problems to solve for sure, and it’ll be impossible to go hunting or do anything for fun besides going to a tavern, and he hasn’t been in the mood for that lately.

He rests his hands on the windowsill, seeing his own reflection in the darkness of the horizon: tired eyes, recently trimmed hair, some stubble. Despite his best efforts, he looks like a mess. He should change into his nightgown, smoke a little, and go to sleep.

Very conveniently, he hears the hurried steps of what could only be a member of the service rushing to his bedroom. Sylvain gets ready to ask for his tobacco as soon as the servant knocks on his door, but he opens it without warning, which Sylvain doesn’t even mind that much, but it is odd coming from the service his mother’s command raised. He also hears someone - a baby? - crying, but as far as he knows Adelaide isn’t due for another three months.

‘L-Lord Sylvain.’ Sylvain turns to him and blinks. This is one of the younger servants, and he’s carrying a basket in his arms. The source of the cries, most likely. 

‘Hey, boy, breathe,’ Sylvain says, gesturing with his hands to calm the young man down. ‘What is this about?’

‘A blind man left this baby at our door,’ he manages, and Sylvain’s head starts making calculations. He hasn’t been with anyone ever since… ‘He told me to give this child to you, sir, and he also left a sword.’

A sword.

Sylvain rushes to his wardrobe, searching for something that will keep him warm enough out there. ‘Did you invite him in?’

‘I did, my lord, but he decided to leave nonetheless.’

‘Good,’ Sylvain mutters, shuffling through his clothes. ‘Tell Clément to prepare my horse immediately and leave the baby with Adelaide.’

‘A horse…?’ The boy questions, but soon disappears into the hallway, the crying infant in his arms. Sylvain breathes in and out, gripping the sleeve of one of his coats. He’ll need boots, a scarf and a hat too. And a cape. Perhaps two scarves. His chest feels heavy. 

Blind. His servant saw a blind man. Was Felix enough of a fool to come all the way to Gautier with a newborn child just to hand them to him and leave? It sounded like something he was capable of. And the sword… 

He’s alive. Felix is alive. Felix is here.

But he might not be for long, so he walks down the stairs of the manor and makes his way through the familiar hallways and towards the stables. 

When he arrives, Clément looks up. ‘My lord, give me just a moment and I’ll be done. You’re lucky I was already here.’

‘It’s late,’ Sylvain mutters, but he can discuss that later. ‘Did you see a man with dark blue hair? Blind?’

Clément frowns and shakes his head, giving the horse’s side a small pat and checking everything is in order. ‘No, sir, but I haven’t been looking outside. It’s too dark for anyone to see properly without some fire.’

Sylvain nods in agreement, and gets on his horse, taking the lantern Clément hands him. If he were Felix, which direction would he take? He doesn’t even know where he came from, but Sylvain has no time to waste. This blizzard will take Felix away for the third time if he doesn’t act quickly. ‘Thank you, Clément. If any of you sees the man, please, drag him inside the house. No matter what, you must drag him in and tend to any illness or wound he has. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

With that, Sylvain kicks the horse and it starts cantering into the cold Gautier night. As if his silent prayers to the Goddess have been heard, the blizzard starts diminishing barely minutes after his search begins, but he’s still cold and the dark, white immensity of Gautier shows no signs of Felix. There are no footsteps to follow, so he’s truly lost here, without a single lead.

He will have to follow his intuition instead. He pulls his scarf down and screams into the endless void of the night. ‘Felix!’ He guides his horse along the path that leads to the fortresses north of the citadel. ‘Felix! Please! Felix!’

The light of the lantern isn’t enough, so he casts a fire spell, as big and enduring as he can, and he scatters it around the place, getting a brief look at the road and his surroundings. He repeats the motion a few more times, listening to every possible sound that could be hidden under the wind and his own horse’s hooves. He shouldn’t be far, he couldn’t be far, but perhaps Sylvain has been running on circles without realizing. Curse this weather, curse this damn snow and this damn place.

More minutes pass. ‘Felix! Felix, if you’re out there, please.’ His throat is already raspy and it’s uncomfortable to talk, but that isn’t enough to stop him. ‘Answer me! Felix!’

He conjures fire once again, and before he can scatter the flames, he notices a sound. Steps cracking snow open. Maybe even a heavy breath. ‘Felix!’

The steps cease. Sylvain unmounts his horse and walks closer to the sound, and his mouth hangs open when he notices the dark figure standing in the road. He’s covered in black and brown rags from head to toe, a belt around his waist that should be holding a sword, but isn’t. Short, messily cut dark blue hair that looks jet black under this light. Vacant eyes that look in Sylvain’s general direction.

‘Felix,’ Sylvain whispers, walking one step closer, followed by another, until his fire spell vanishes and his arms surround Felix in a tight hug and his hands grip him. He’s real, he’s not a ghost of Sylvain’s mind, but he feels small and fragile in his arms. ‘Felix. Goddess, Felix, I found you, I found you, I…’

Felix whimpers. ‘...L-Let go…’

‘No,’ Sylvain states, taking off his cape and covering Felix’s shoulders with it. ‘No.’ He repeats, holding his face with his hand. ‘You’re coming home with me this time, Fe.’

‘I-’ Felix’s weak voice is cut suddenly when his knees buckle and his whole weight falls on Sylvain. He swears under his breath.

‘Come on. Stop being stubborn just this once, alright? I’ll help you to get on the horse. And then we’ll go back home. But you have to stay awake until then.’ Felix doesn’t respond, but Sylvain sees the mist coming from his breath, and that's enough for now. 'Let's get you on the horse.' He helps Felix walk to the animal, and when he lifts him, he notices how light he feels in his arms. There truly is no time to waste. 

He gets on the horse after Felix, holding the reins and framing his body with his arms. Maybe it's weakness, or something deep within Felix, but he lays back on Sylvain, shaking against his chest even with the fur cape around his shoulders. 

Sylvain gives him his scarf and kisses his head, before turning the horse around and kicking it again, heading in the manor's direction. Felix whimpers in his arms, and the sudden fear of his consciousness slipping away hits Sylvain. ‘Felix? Felix, stay awake.’ Another whimper. ‘We’re almost home, I promise. We’ll get there soon. Just… hang on a little longer. Our child… That baby is our child, aren’t they? I couldn’t look at them properly, but I bet they’re the most adorable creature in the universe.’ He hears Felix saying something, but his words are impossible to distinguish. ‘I can’t wait for you to tell me their name… That’s why you have to stay awake, Felix. I’m going to be a horrible father if I don’t even know my child’s name. So that’s why… Felix.’

He gets no response, and Sylvain grinds his teeth together, ordering the horse to go faster. It gallops along the snow, making its way through what remains of the blizzard, and Sylvain’s pulse pumps in his ears. ‘Felix. Felix, answer me, please, don’t leave me, please, please...’

Even if he’s unconscious, he’s still breathing, still moving a little, and Sylvain clings to that and his prayers as they cross the snowy Gautier landscape, see the wall that protects his home, cross the entrance to the citadel, and arrive at the manor where Clément awaits.

‘My lord!’ 

Sylvain reins his horse in, holding Felix against his chest. Clément helps him get the half-conscious Felix off the horse safely, and once again Sylvain is terrified of how light he feels in his arms. ‘Go get a doctor, as fast as you can. I don’t care how late it might be.’

‘Yes, sir.’ 

* * *

He must be dead already. 

Someone with Sylvain’s voice had appeared when he’d given up. He’d said words Felix can’t remember now, and he had stopped being as cold. He had felt the warmth of Sylvain’s arms and thought that perhaps he was going back in time before the attack. But where is the girl? Why isn’t she with him? But if she isn’t, it means the girl is alive and safe. Even if Felix wants her company, it’s better like this. 

This Sylvain’s hands undress him, though not the way he did that night when he could still see them. There’s warm water on his arms, legs, and stomach, and then his skin is covered in something soft while this Sylvain speaks. It feels good. Felix would even say it feels like home. 

Death comes for him, stopping the pain and fatigue that plagues his body, and Felix prays to see his older brother again.

In death, he dreams that his body still hurts, but less than before. His surroundings feel soft and warm still. One of Sylvain’s maids is there, Felix recognizes her voice, but Sylvain is also there, holding his hand and rubbing it with his thumb. ‘Felix. Fe, you’re awake…’

‘Where is Glenn?’ he murmurs, and Sylvain squeezes his hand. ‘Where…’

‘...He’s alright. You should take some soup and go back to sleep, Fe.’

Felix scrunches his nose, but nods. The liquid that the maid slides inside his mouth tastes like a feast.

Next time he dreams, he’s sweating too much. The sun must be strong, even if there isn’t that much light coming in. The clothes are sticking to his skin, droplets falling down his temples, and he whines miserably. ‘Oh!’ The maid from the previous dream rushes to his side. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘...The sun… The sweat… Put it away.’

She nods and walks away. ‘Is this enough, sir?’ Felix hums, even if he barely notices the change. ‘I’ll take care of that sweat in a second.’

The rub of a towel on his skin feels real, like his actual face is being cleaned of sweat, and he sighs. ‘Sylvain…’

Unlike in the other dreams, Sylvain’s voice doesn’t appear out of nowhere. ‘Master Sylvain is taking care of the young lady.’

‘Young… lady?’

Maybe he isn’t dreaming, or maybe the Goddess has decided he is to stay alive. It’s hard to tell, because his ears still whistle, his body still sweats and shakes like it’s melting, and he can’t smell anything.

But she is here, and she is safe. So maybe… ‘I-I want to… Sylvain…’

‘Master Sylvain is with the young lady at the moment,’ she repeats patiently, tucking him in. ‘I’ll tell him that you woke up, and that you look less feverish, but please refrain from moving too much.’

Felix groans. It’s not like he can move; his joints still hurt and he is immensely tired. But he wants to, now that he is slowly realizing the truth: his plans to freeze to death after leaving her at Gautier failed after all. 

‘...Yes,’ he finally mutters. His eyelids feel as heavy as stones, and there isn’t much point in keeping them open. So he listens to her advice, and rests.

He wakes up for a fourth time, to the sound of Sylvain's voice and his hand touching Felix's forehead. His blurry figure blocks the little light that still pours into the room.

‘You’re not as hot as before… Ah, you’re awake.’ By his tone, Felix knows Sylvain is smiling. ‘Fe… How do you feel?’

‘...Bad.’ He tries to move, but the blankets covering him are as heavy as they are warm, and he’s sweating again. ‘Bad,’ he repeats, groaning when his body complains again. Gently, Sylvain pushes him back down. ‘What…’

‘You’ve been delirious for… three days,’ he explains. ‘I… Well, I’m glad to see you look better, Fe. You were so pale before.’ Felix huffs, trying to push away the blankets like a stubborn child. Sylvain doesn’t try to stop him. ‘Lunch will be prepared soon Sorry to give you soup again, but it’s the only thing the healer will let me give you.’

‘Healer…’ Felix shuffles on the bed, lying on his side instead, and a sharp pain crosses his side. ‘Fuck-’ A droplet of sweat runs down his face, and Sylvain carefully pushes him so he’s laying on his back again. The pain ceases, but his breathing is heavier than before. So much for such a simple thing as turning on the bed. 

‘Don’t worry.’ Sylvain holds his hand again, rubbing it with his thumb. ‘You know, as soon as you can sit up I’m going to fix that mess of a haircut you have. You cut it yourself, didn’t you?’ Felix nods. ‘You’ll have to tell me that story later.’

‘Hm,’ Felix nods again, even if he has no inclination to do it. ‘Whatever.’

Sylvain sighs, staying silent for two seconds before opening his damn mouth again. ‘By the way, there is something I have to ask you. Urgently.’

‘What?’

‘What is the girl’s name? Our daughter’s.’

Felix frowns. ‘She doesn’t have one,’ he mutters, ‘I didn’t name her.’

Sylvain’s silence says many things: that he’s disappointed, baffled, and offended by Felix’s words. That something in them doesn’t make sense to him. Well, it doesn’t matter that much.

‘Did she die?’ Felix asks, and his own voice comes out lower than intended. 

‘She’s been sick,’ Sylvain’s grip on Felix’s hand tightens, and he sounds frankly miserable. ‘I don’t know if she will live.’

That makes it easier, Felix thinks. If she dies without a name, they can just bury her and forget. Without a name, there is no shortcut that his brain can take to remember her. The pain is easier to carry that way, or so he thinks. But Sylvain seems to have a different opinion, because he gets up and walks around the room for a while. Felix’s chest swells with anxiety just from the sound of his steps.

‘If she doesn’t have a name, I will name her,’ Sylvain says. ‘Is that alright by you?’

‘Do as you please,’ Felix answers. ‘But… If she dies, don’t… tell me the name.’

He can’t guess the emotion on Sylvain’s face when he speaks again. ‘...Alright.’

* * *

There isn’t much time to think about names, because the girl’s life depends on something that is out of anyone’s control. Be it the will of the Goddess or pure luck, all Sylvain can do is look after her and pray. 

Thankfully, he’s been thinking about names worthy of this child ever since he came back home and left Felix under the healer’s care. He’d walked in circles in the nearest room, easing the anxiety in the best ways he could think of. One of those ways had been remembering names he knew. There were some that sounded good enough for such a cute baby, but only one stuck strongly with him.

_ Aimée _ .

A child that is loved no matter what. 

She's awake now, Sylvain notices. Despite her age, she looks so much like Felix already: dark blue hair, brown eyes in the same shade as his. Just looking at her makes Sylvain's heart swell with affection like nothing else, and he thinks it's odd, because he hasn't had the chance to even hold her that much. Adelaide and the other maids have been working hard to keep her warm, clean, and well-fed, and all he can do is wait.

If she dies, she will be buried in the same place as every other Gautier has in the past, with the Gautier surname. She deserves nothing less, but Sylvain would rather not dwell on that too much. It feels like just thinking about it might jinx the child's destiny, as absurd as that is.

So he smiles at her instead, resting his hands on the edge of the cradle. 'Aimée,' he murmurs, wanting nothing more than to stroke her cheeks and let her grab his index between her tiny fingers. But the maids have discouraged him from doing that, because her health is still fragile, so they simply stare at each other. 'What do you think? It's a good name, in my opinion. Papa isn't that delirious anymore, did you know? I'll tell him all about the name later… I wanted to get your approval first.' Aimée blinks slowly, and Sylvain sighs. 'I'll take that as a "yes, father, I am very tired so please let me be!" And that's what I will do, sweetie. Sleep well.' 

He turns around to leave, and sees Adelaide peeking inside the room with a tender smile on her face. 'Who would've thought, milord.'

Sylvain blushes. 'What do you mean, Adelaide?'

'That you would be the kind of man,' she continues, walking inside the room. She takes a seat near the door and huffs. 'That is a womanizer until he finds  _ the one.' _

Sylvain would laugh if it weren't for the tired baby dangerously close to him. 'I mean, I've got nothing against kids.'

'That much is obvious, yes.' She nods, rubbing her stomach. The gesture catches Sylvain's attention, and a thought crosses his mind.

'Hey, Adelaide, are you tired?'

'Being pregnant is being constantly tired, lord Sylvain.' Her smile turns a little crooked. 'It's like eating and walking for two… Or three at the same time.'

Sylvain hums, and his thoughts go back to Felix. Was he completely alone all that time, lost in the snowed Srengi tundra? For how long was his mercenary band around? Did they kick him out when they discovered he was going to have a child from an employer? How did he receive such terrifying wounds to his eyes?

'How is the little lady, milord?' Adelaide asks, interrupting the spiral of Sylvain's thoughts, and he takes another look inside the cradle. 

'She's feeling well, all things considered… I think. She looks tired.'

'We should let her sleep, then.'

Sylvain agrees, but it's still hard to tear himself away from her. His daughter, the unexpected blessing that brought Felix back. His little miracle that had survived all the way back from some northern icy wasteland.

'Yes. I should rest as well… there are some problems I must take care of. Be well, Adelaide.'

'Thank you, milord.'

* * *

After a while, Felix loses all sense of time.

His routine is to be woken up by the same maid everyday, three times a day, to be given food that is the same bland soup most of the time. His stomach isn't in "the best condition" to digest stronger foods, and, as frustrating as it is, Felix agrees. He wouldn't be able to actually chew on something without spilling it out as he is right now. 

There is one bath a day, a time Sylvain always dedicates exclusively to him, during which it's hard to remain conscious. Sylvain is professional about it: mildly warm water, barely any of his  _ witty _ commentary, hands rubbing away the dirt. It's relaxing, and Felix is always exhausted and nasty with sweat.

He wants to ask if she's alive, but he never gathers the courage, and he assumes something would change if she were to die. So he waits for Sylvain's visits instead, because if the baby died he'd say something. Instead, he always says the same thing.

'She's still sick. But a little better than yesterday, I think. She's a strong little lady, isn't she?' And then he laughs. Like he promised, he doesn't tell him what he named her, and just keeps talking about what's been going on in the manor and outside of it. It's mostly mundane stories, but for someone that spends his days bedridden, staring into the blurry figures of the bedroom between one nap and another, it's entertaining enough. 

Then he falls asleep, and sometimes his naps are dreamless. Sometimes he dreams of his father and brother, the latter playing in the snow that would cover the Fraldarius territory all the way from autumn to the start of spring. Sometimes he dreams about Dimitri's death, his corpse splayed out in Gronder Field. Stabbed all over his back like a sacrificed boar, bleeding out. Somehow, his blue eye is always looking at Felix. Piercing him through the neck.

He wakes up from that specific dream with a knot there and a weight in his chest. They’re not unfamiliar feelings, and Felix is used to ignoring them, but this time he can't run from them like he used to. He's bound to this bed for now, and the sounds of servants’ voices and the occasional faint cries of a baby aren't enough to distract him.

One day, he wakes up from one of those naps with a feeling that feels brand new. He's thirsty.

'...Y-You. Miss.' he can't remember the name of the maid that has been assisting him, but her figure appears by his side soon enough. 

'Yes?'

'W...What is your name?'

He hears her huffing. 'Eloise, sir.'

Felix nods, feeling just a little guilty for forgetting. 'I'm thristy. I'd like some milk… please.'

There's silence for a few seconds. 'Of course, sir. I'll bring some right away.'

He hears her hurried steps walking out of the room and sighs, scrunching his nose at the sound of his own stomach roaring.

* * *

Sylvain doesn’t know just how much he needs good news until some arrives in the form of a very excited Eloise with intensely flushed cheeks and a wide smile on her mouth. ‘Sir Sylvain!’

If nothing else, he’s grateful to have an excuse to look away from more reports on the border and troubles within the Gautier territory and instead stare at some unadulterated joy. ‘You look adorable, Eloise. What is it that’s making you smile so much?’

‘Sir Felix is feeling much better, I think! He has woken up fully conscious.’

A weight Sylvain hadn’t perceived before vanishes from his chest, and Sylvain’s standard smile widens. ‘That’s… very good news.’

‘He even asked for food! Well, he just wanted a glass of warm milk, but…!’

‘Well, the doctor said that would be a very good sign, so,’ Sylvain gets up from his chair, straightening his back as an old man would. It cracks, which is a little worrying, but he has no time to think about it. ‘Let’s bring him that glass of milk, then, hm? I’ll accompany you.’

‘Of course! You could also use a break, sir.’

‘I won’t say no to that.’

Warming milk isn’t as hard as it is to bring it on a tray from the kitchens to the bedroom Felix has been allocated. Sylvain observes Eloise as she effortlessly walks up the stairs with the milk and some treats - just in case Felix feels like it, although Sylvain doubts he will - and decides that he would be a mess at this job if he were to try it.

He knocks on the door a few times, but nothing is heard from the inside, immediately sparking some worry into Sylvain. They walk inside, and they find a half-asleep Felix curled up under the mountain of thick blankets. ‘Fe?’ An annoyed groan comes from the messy bundle in the bed, and that alone dissipates Sylvain’s previous concerns. ‘Fe, it’s me.’

‘I know.’

His voice is merely a whisper, and his eyes are open but unfocused, as they’ve been ever since he came back. It’s not hard to guess why: the burn scars around his eyes are visible even with the messily cut hair around it. ‘You asked for milk, right? We’ve brought you some.’

‘We’ve…’ Felix tries to sit up, leaning on his elbow, but before he can fall back into the bed, Sylvain helps him. ‘Eloise?’ 

‘The very same, sir!’ She says, leaving the tray with the milk and the dried fruit on the nightstand. 

‘Thank you, Eloise.’ Sylvain nods. You’re dismissed for now.’ 

With a small bow, the maid leaves the room, perhaps in a hurry to enjoy this unexpected moment of leisure. Sylvain’s attention isn’t on her, not when Felix is looking in his general direction. ‘...How are you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ his voice is as raspy as it’s weak, but it sounds… Clear, in a way it wasn’t when Felix was hallucinating. ‘Hungry.’

‘Right.’ Sylvain grabs the cup of milk and offers it to Felix. The latter’s hands raise and touch the air until they reach the cup, still too weak to hold it on his own. But Sylvain’s hands support the cup when Felix’s can’t, guiding it to his lips. ‘Easy there…’

The cup reaches his lips, and Felix starts taking small sips with some pauses in between. Sylvain patiently holds the cup, letting him breathe and decide if he wants more or not, and he manages to drink half of it before turning his head to one side.

‘Alright.’ Sylvain puts the cup back on the tray, and Felix sighs. ‘I also have some dried fruit. Eloise brought it just in case you wanted it.’

‘No,’ Felix replies curtly and tries to stay up as soon as his body starts sliding down the pile of pillows. 

‘Felix, I can help-’

‘Shut up,’ he groans. ‘Just… let me-’

‘...I’ll leave you to it.’ He stands close by, however, just in case Felix’s endeavor goes wrong, which is likely considering his arms are shaking from the effort of holding his weight. 

In the end, he fails, and begrudgingly accepts Sylvain’s help.

‘Your stubbornness sure hasn’t gone away, huh.’ He firmly holds Felix’s body, pushing it back up into a proper sitting position. That same stubbornness is probably what helped him manage the trip here, so Sylvain is sort of thankful for it. ‘You look better.’

‘Do I,’ Felix grunts snarkily, letting his eyelids fall.

‘Yes. You looked and sounded like a dead man before… But you seem pretty much alive now.’ His hands reach for Felix’s, wrapping his around Felix’s own. ‘I’m glad, Fe.’

Felix’s eyes stay closed, but Sylvain doesn’t need an answer at the moment. For now, it’s enough to watch Felix’s chest rise and fall, the color on his cheeks, and the casual movement of his eyelids. He’s alive, will most likely stay alive, and that’s all that matters right now.

* * *

When Felix can finally sit up by himself, Sylvain brings up his previous proporsal. 'Maybe I should even out your hair.'

Felix hums, tilting his head. 'Why?'

'It looks horrible, to be honest,' he admits, reaching for the messy bunch of dark blue hair on Felix's head. It looks burned and very badly cut. 'Did you use a dagger?'

'A short sword.' The answer doesn't surprise Sylvain in the slightest. 'It was in the way. Most of it burned anyway. Who cares.'

'I do,' Sylvain says, finally daring to touch his hair. He's been helping Felix wash it, of course, but there are things the finest shampoos known to Fódlan can’t fix, like awkward cuts and uneven lengths. Felix reacts by pressing his lips together and scrunching his nose, looking like a cat about to bite. 'So, unless you're planning on setting a whole new trend, I'd recommend getting it fixed.'

Felix squints, but finally sighs in defeat. 'If it's going to make you shut the hell up,' he groans, slapping Sylvain's hand away. 'I'll comply.' 

'Perfect! Tomorrow morning then, after your bath, we'll get to it. Sounds good?'

Felix nods and Sylvain adds that to his list of small triumphs. He walks out of the room and makes his way to his workspace. As always, there are a bunch of letters to sign and complaints to read, but for once the sight of it doesn’t tire him too much. Good things are coming his way. He can feel it, as little sense as that makes.

Time goes by fast, and Sylvain jumps in his chair when a servant knocks on his door to announce he’s brought him lunch. ‘Come in!’ He pulls the chair back, getting up to stretch his arms and legs. Goddess, that food smells and looks delicious. ‘Thank you. Do you have any news?’

‘I do, sir.’ He bows his head and smiles, pushing hair out of his face. ‘Adelaide told me to inform you that lady Aimée isn’t suffering from fevers anymore.’

Relief washes over Sylvain, lips immediately curling up in a smile. ‘Are you sure?’ The boy nods two times, and Sylvain leans back on the chair. ‘Oh, that’s… That’s so good. Tell her I’ll go see her later.’

‘Will do, sir. Please, enjoy your meal.’

Sylvain nods. He’s never been a fan of Faerghan food, especially after experimenting with what food could actually taste like when he studied at Garreg Mach, but nothing could ever taste bad after news like this. 

He rarely prays, but he might just have some words of gratitude for the Goddess tonight.

* * *

In the morning, he gets breakfast sent to his bedroom by the service, alongside a report. Usually it only includes minor details, or nothing of importance at all, but the maid mentions that Aimée continues to not suffer from fever, and that is enough to make Sylvain's day slightly brighter.

'This is very good news indeed,' he mentions, blowing on the cup of hot coffee imported from Dagda and deciding to pour a pinch of sugar into it. If Felix tasted this, he would surely love how bitter it is. 'Tell Adelaide I'll be visiting them as soon as I'm done with breakfast. Thank you.'

'It's my pleasure, sir.' The servant bows and walks out of the room, and Sylvain gives his coffee another sip. But sitting here and eating feels uncomfortable. Wrong. His heart is pounding faster by the minute, and the breakfast feels more and more like a waste of time when he could be rushing to his daughter's side. 

Maybe he will be allowed to hold her this time, or he will let her grab his fingers and squeeze them as strongly as she can. Maybe her eyes have turned a slightly darker brown that matches his own, but he still prefers the idea of her having Felix's eyes… 

Goddess, he needs to see her.

He leaves half a tray of food behind, drinking all that is left of his cup of coffee before rushing to his wardrobe. He only needs something to protect him from the freezing hallways of the manor, so he grabs the first robe he finds and puts it on, extinguishing the flames in the fireplace and leaving the room without much more ceremony.

The service's rooms are on the first floor, so Sylvain walks down the stairs and greets some of his servants on the way to Adelaide's room. He knocks on her door three times, and he meets Adelaide’s curious gaze. ‘Oh, sir Sylvain!’

‘You look absolutely breathtaking, Adelaide,’ he comments, bowing to her. Old habits die hard, but she has never taken his casual flirting seriously. ‘I’ve come to see Aimée.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She walks away from the entrance, allowing him to enter the room. It’s a space shared with her husband, but he must be doing his job somewhere else. ‘She hasn’t been feverish since yesterday… She’s improving a lot, sir.’

‘Thank goodness’ He walks closer to the cradle, looking inside to find the baby sitting there, her eyes wide open. Furthermore, she’s fidgeting with the ear of a large brown teddy bear. She’s conscious, and moving, and she’s looking at Sylvain. ‘Hey, little one… I see you’ve got a nice plushie there.’

‘Ah, yes, handmade just for the lovely lady.’ Adelaide laughs, sitting down. ‘She tries to move all the time… Always asking to sit up. How old is she, sir?’

‘...I don’t know,’ Sylvain realizes with a deep sigh. ‘Felix… he hasn’t told me yet.’

‘Then you shall ask next time, sir.’ Adelaide shakes her head, but she doesn’t look disappointed. ‘In any case, she looks happy to see you.’

‘Do you think so?’ Sylvain laughs, embarrassed, and turns back to Aimée, who has gone back to focusing on her ball. ‘Hey, hey, look here!’ She obeys, and Sylvain covers his face with his hands, still seeing from the space between his fingers. Aimée gasps, all of her attention on Sylvain until he uncovers his face. ‘Boo!’

She yells happily, throwing her plushie away and hitting the cradle with her hands, before losing her balance and falling on her side with a gruntle that sounds like annoyance in its purest form. 

So little, and she already reminds him of Felix in more ways than one.

‘Are you ok? Have you hurt yourself?!’

Adelaide laughs at his panic. ‘If she had hurt herself, she’d be crying right now,’ she mentions. ‘Either that or she’s one stubborn and prideful baby.’

Considering who her other father is, Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised. Although Felix used to be a hellish baby to raise, if Rodrigue’s accounts of the experience are to be trusted. ‘Can I hold her?’

‘You may, sir,’ she says. ‘She has to get used to her father, after all.’

‘That is true… Come here, little one.’ He picks her up from the cradle, and she rests her head on his shoulder, grabbing the neck of his tunic and tearing some fur out of it. ‘Oh, looks like she loves this one- Hey!’ He grabs Aimée’s tiny hand before she can bury that fur inside her mouth, and she groans. ‘No, you can’t eat that. That’s bad. It’ll make your stomach hurt!’ he says, despite knowing damn well she can’t understand him yet. She tries to punch him with her little fist, face twisted into the most vicious baby anger Sylvain’s ever seen. And Adelaide is probably having the time of her life with this. ‘C-Come on, don’t make that face…’

As expected, she starts crying, and throws the fur to the floor in the middle of her tantrum. Making her cry is precisely what he was trying to avoid.

Thankfully, Adelaide comes to his rescue, taking Aimée in her arms instead and giving her lord a tired smile. ‘That wasn’t bad for your first time, milord.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sylvain apologizes.

‘There, there…’ She puts the child back in her cradle and offers her the ball. Sylvain would say she takes it with resignation, but can babies even feel that? ‘She’s just a little fussy, I suppose. She has been crying a lot all this time, after all, but I think part of it was because she was sick.’

Sylvain’s hands rest on the railing of the cradle, and his thoughts go back to the second floor, where Felix still rests. Would it help him to have Aimée by his side? Not likely, considering how much she cries, but… ‘When… do you think you can move her back with Felix, Adelaide?’

One of her hands goes to her chin, while the other strokes the baby’s head. ‘...Well, has sir Felix recovered entirely?’

Sylvain shakes his head, eyes fixed on Aimée. ‘Not really… He’s still convalescent.’

‘Then it’s better to wait,’ she sits down again, huffs, and rubs her back. ‘Goodness, I can’t even imagine…’

‘What is it?’

‘What it must have been for him. Out there, in the cold… Likely alone?’ She sighs, shaking her head. ‘I don’t even know how either of them are alive. Would love to know, when the sir feels better and wants to tell.’ 

‘...Me too.’

* * *

These moments are almost always completely silent, when he’s bathing Felix, except for the sounds of the water and some minor complaints from him, to which Sylvain responds with small hums. It feels wrong to make a joke here, when every single day he finds a new scar or burn on Felix’s skin and catches himself guessing if he could’ve avoided this. If he could’ve done something to keep Felix from leaving, instead of watch him go from his window.

Maybe if he had run after him, he’d have been able to convince him that it was alright to stay by his side, that no matter how many worries he carried on his back, they could’ve carried them together. There was no reason for either of them to be left alone.

This is no time for that, however. Sylvain helps Felix up and leads him to the stool, handing him his towel, and sits on the floor next to him. ‘So, still up for that brand new haircut?’

Felix shrugs, and keeps drying his skin. ‘I thought you’d forget about it.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Sylvain assures him. ‘You have no idea the mess you have up there, Fe.’

‘You’re right. I don’t.’

Sylvain lets out an awkward and short laugh. Was that supposed to be a joke, or an accusation of something? Not even he knows how to interpret Felix’s dry, empty voice this time. ‘...Well. Stay there, I’ll go get the scissors.’

Another shrug. Sylvain leaves to fetch the instrument and a chair to sit behind Felix. ‘Now, how should I cut it?’ he says out loud, carrying both things to the corner where Felix sits still, fidgeting with his towel. ‘Any preference?’

‘None. Do whatever you want.’

‘Will do, then. But I don’t want complaints later,’ he says playfully, placing the chair and sitting on it. His attempt to lighten the mood doesn’t get him any results, as Felix keeps fidgeting, and his vacant eyes still stare at the void. ‘Now, lean back a little. Against me.’ Felix follows, and Sylvain smiles. ‘Good. Like that. Now, stay still.’

Sylvain starts by cutting the singed tips of Felix’s hair. It’s still wet, but Sylvain recognizes the touch of hair he has stroked so many times. ‘Hey, Fe,’ he starts, although he doesn’t expect a reply. ‘Remember when we’d share a tent? During the war.’

Felix hums, which at the very least means he’s listening. ‘What about that?’

‘I liked it,’ Sylvain murmurs, cutting another bunch of ruined hair. ‘After every battle, we’d all smell like shit and blood, people would be burying the dead, and… Well, it was nice, you know? To go back to you every night.’

No answer. Was it a mistake to bring it up? He didn’t want to give him reasons to leave again.

Felix finally takes some air in. ‘I suppose.’

Sylvain swallows down saliva. An answer is an answer, so he won’t complain. ‘I… liked to stroke your hair until you fell asleep. It would make me relax too. It’s always been so soft with barely any effort.’ He laughs, and cuts more hair, now trying to even it all out. ‘You’re a lucky bastard, you know? I know a million people that would kill to have this sort of hair.’

This time, Felix’s reply comes quickly. ‘They can have it if they want. It’s nothing but a bother.’

‘Let me guess. It got in the way of fighting?’ Felix hums. ‘You said you cut it with a short sword?’ Another hum. ‘Where is the sword now?’

Felix shrugs. ‘Sold it. I think.’ He thinks? Can’t he remember? ‘Don’t know.’

‘That’s fine,’ Sylvain murmurs. ‘Turn around. With your face to me.’ Felix once again follows his instructions without a single protest, and his eyes look in Sylvain’s general direction. ‘Yeah, like that.’ Felix’s eyelids fall as Sylvain grabs more strands of hair and cuts them to the best of his ability, careful and precise. Making Felix look even worse would defeat the purpose. ‘...Hey, Fe.’ He blows some hair out of his face. ‘Can you see something?’

‘Yeah.’ His eyes open again, as if to prove a point. ‘I can see things that block out the light. Shadows. Not much else.’

He should’ve guessed, but it’s still good to know Felix hasn’t lost his sight completely. Anything is useful, as Adelaide says. ‘Alright. Now I’m going to try out something I saw my hairdresser do. Can’t guarantee it won’t be a disaster.’

Felix sighs, exhausted. He looks healthier than yesterday, but it must be difficult to stay still for him, recovering and all. ‘That’s fine. Just get this done already.’

Sylvain bites his lower lip. ‘...You know what? I’ll just leave it at that,’ he says, putting the scissors away and shaking the strands of hair away from Felix’s shoulders. ‘I can fix the finer details tomorrow, with some expert advice.’

‘Right,’ Felix sighs again, refusing Sylvain’s help when he offers to take him to the bed. ‘I’m  _ fine _ .’

‘Sorry.’

Just in case, Sylvain remains by his side as Felix stumbles to the comfort of the bed he’s been lying on for several weeks now. His hands find the clean, folded nightgown and he puts it on without speaking a single word. 

‘You should dry your hair properly,’ Sylvain mentions, fetching the towel from the stool and handing it to him. ‘There.’

Felix huffs, but complies, rubbing his hair dry with the towel in slow movements. Sylvain wants to help, do it for him, but knows Felix will just shoo him away. 

Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed. ‘Our… she’s been feeling better lately. In fact, Adelaide says she’s likely out of mortal risk.’ Felix’s arms stop moving at that, and Sylvain can tell he’s paying attention. ‘So I was wondering if you want to know her name now.’

Felix frowns, and goes back to drying his hair. ‘Are you sure? Babies get sick all the damn time. She might be dead tomorrow. She might even die overnight.’

‘She won’t.’ The words come out of his mouth with a confidence that startles Felix, by the way his eyes snap open. ‘I know she won’t.’

‘You’re-’ he grunts, shaking his head. Several seconds of stillness follow, and Felix’s knuckles turn white by his grip on the towel. ‘You- You have no idea of what it was to- You don’t know.’

‘I don’t,’ Sylvain admits. ‘I couldn’t possibly, Fe.’

More quiet, so solid and painful Sylvain can almost feel it on his fingertips. There are a million things he wants to say: he wants to know how Felix survived out there. He wants to know where his mercenary band was at a moment like this. Why he didn’t stay. Why he left in the first place, two years ago. He wants to know how to ease the distance between them.

But Felix wouldn’t react well to any of those questions, so he will give him time, if that’s what he needs. He’d give him the moon if he needed it.

‘I have to go, Fe. I’ll send someone to sweep the floor and clean up. Rest well.’

Sylvain gets up and walks to the door, sighing when his hand rests on the doorknob.

‘Wait.’

Sylvain’s heart skips a beat as he turns to Felix. ‘Yes?’

He watches him breathe in and out, fingers twisting the towel in his hands. ‘...The name. What is it?’

Sylvain’s mouth hangs open as his heart thrashes against his chest. ‘...Aimée. You can think of a second name, if you want.’ Felix nods and lets go of the towel, lying down on the bed. ‘I hope you like it. I’ll be leaving now.’ No answer.

But that’s fine, because he can count yet another small victory.


	3. Chapter 3

He has condemned himself. 

There was a reason why he didn’t want to know her name - why he didn’t name her in the first place. It would be easier like that if she were to die, which she almost did too many times, to just bury her in a nameless grave and have nothing else to remember her by. She couldn’t have haunted him like Glenn and his father do, because she’d have no name to her. Just the girl. And if he had left her at the Gautier manor and either died or disappeared, he’d never know what name Sylvain would’ve given her, and she would just be another part of his life that he’s leaving behind, another thing that can’t weigh him down. 

But, likewise, there is a reason why he decided it was worth it to come back and bring her to her father, similar to why he decided to sleep with Sylvain that night. He still can’t pinpoint the name of that emotion, clumsy as he is with understanding it at all, but there is a force driving him back into this place and into Sylvain’s arms.

He wants to keep her safe, he can admit that much to himself. He cares, because if he didn’t, he’d have just let her die. He’d have let those people take her away from him without a fight. Sylvain never would’ve known. Their daughter might or might not have lived happily away from him, away from Sylvain, unaware that the famed Margrave was her father and the failed Duke abandoned her to her luck. He would’ve died away from home, buried in a pauper’s grave and forgotten by all, just like everyone wanted back in Fraldarius.

That sounds like the ideal ending. Forgotten by history, five meters under dirt and other corpses; the end he deserves.

But he can’t call her “she” anymore. Sylvain chose a fine name for her. Aimée. He couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. 

“If I have children one day,” he had said once, back inside that tent they shared when neither of them could sleep. “I wouldn’t make the same mistake as my old man.”

Those words stuck with Felix, even if it was never in his plans to have children, not with Sylvain and not with anyone else. After the war, he’d leave, and Sylvain would probably get married to someone else - someone worthwhile, maybe, someone that could bear the weight of their own guilt, someone that wouldn’t be pathetic - and that would’ve been it.

Felix sighs and opens his eyes to the dimly lit room. There is an unstable light, a candle perhaps, but not much else he can distinguish. Did they leave him to sleep alone with a candle still burning?

No, that’s not it. He doesn’t think candlelight would be this soft. When he pushes the blankets away, a chilly wind reaches him and freezes him to the bones. Classic Gautier wind, where most of the time it’s unbearable winter. 

‘Eloise?’ he asks, but nobody answers. He can’t hear anyone snoring, either, so she must have left to do something else. 

Fine. He can do things alone.

He sits on the edge of the bed, sighing when his joints hurt, but he’s gotten used to it and it isn’t even as bad as it used to. The carpet his feet land on is soft and familiar, and he leans on the nightstand when his knees threaten to give in.

One of his hands finds the bed again, and he strokes the blankets just to be sure. They feel just like his.

He tries to picture the bedroom in his mind and manages one step leaning on his bed, followed by another. The window should be to his left, but still a few steps away, and he isn’t sure if there are any obstacles on the way or something to lean on to make it easier. Besides, his legs feel weak already, even with the bed’s support.

But he can do this alone. He’s done more difficult things with his current vision, and his health shouldn’t be a setback either. He should be able to close a damn window on his own. He crossed the Gautier tundra on his own with Aimée, blinded and sickly, and he fought the people that tried to take her away. So he lets go of the support the bed offers and walks towards the light.

A cold sweat runs down the nape of his neck immediately, and his knees buckle under the weight of the rest of his body. He hits the floor, a fall softened by the carpet, and groans at the stinging pain in the shoulder he landed on. He stays there, hearing a whistle inside his ear. Paralyzed by his own weakness.

_ What a pathetic thing you have become.  _

Against his better judgment, he pushes up, leaning on his elbow despite the ache in his shoulder, and tries to sit up. Droplets of sweat fall down his face, but he can’t just stay on the floor and wait for Eloise to rescue him. Nobody was going to do that out there in the tundra, so he has to manage now too. He can’t just be useless, he can’t depend on everyone else to move, he  _ has  _ to do this alone.

Yet he fails again, too weak to stand on his feet, and the back of his head hits the carpet. Felix inhales and lets out a long, shaky sigh. He’s too tired to continue trying.

He wants to tear it open, scratch his skin until his ribs are visible and he bleeds to death. He wants to beat himself over the head until it cracks. He wants to hurt, to hurt badly enough that he doesn’t have to think about any of the things that make him worthless, useless, a waste of time and resources. Even with all his protection, Aimée would’ve died under his care. He should’ve given her away, should’ve let her be happy and away from him. He should’ve frozen to death, he should’ve never let Sylvain find him alive. He should jump out of that window while it’s still open for him, but he can’t even get up and do that.

He wishes he were back to when Glenn was still alive, back when he and father had all the answers Felix ever needed. But now he doesn’t know. Sylvain doesn’t need him. Dimitri- The dead don’t need him. Fódlan and the professor don’t need him. 

(Fraldarius doesn’t  _ want  _ him, and he didn’t want it either.)

Aimée doesn’t need him, and while that was the objective of his journey, he was supposed to die after it, not to be kept alive like a shadow of everything he once was. A worthless bag of flesh and bones.

If the pain in his chest were tangible, it would have turned his spine and ribs to dust by this point. But it doesn’t, and after what feels like a lifetime, the door to his bedroom creaks open. ‘Sir Felix?’ Eloise. She pauses, and he hears her muffled steps. ‘Sir Felix! Goodness, what happened?!’ She tries to grab his hand, but he slaps it away. He’s fine. He can get up on his own. If he needed help, he’d ask, but he doesn’t. And if he does, he’ll just rot on the floor. ‘Are you alright, sir?’

Felix doesn’t answer, lifting himself by his elbow and then by his hand, slow and steady, until he manages to sit up. The world still feels unstable, but not as much as before.

When he tries to get up, problems arise: he stumbles barely a second after standing, and Eloise tries to grab his wrists this time. Felix fights it weakly, but she gets the message and lets him go. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Mph. Fine, sir! Be stubborn,’ she groans, and it reminds him of someone he can’t quite picture. ‘I’ll be cleaning your mess, so whenever you decide to accept help, call me.’

Felix sighs. ‘...Close the window. Please.’

He hears her huffing and muttering something about  _ manners  _ under her breath, but he can’t bring himself to care about whatever insults she might murmur behind his back. She does as requested and proceeds to her cleaning duties without as much as another word. Meanwhile, he’s getting tired again even just sitting up, and, despite his pride, he knows he should lie back down on his bed.

He could crawl to the bed and then climb to it, or he could ask for help. He ponders which one is the less humiliating option, and having a maid watch him crawl miserably on the carpet like a newborn isn’t something he’s willing to go through.

So he clears his throat. ‘Eloise.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Could you… help me back on the bed?’

He doesn’t see it, but by her voice, he knows she must be smiling right now. Like she just won something. ‘Sure, sir. If you behave a little now.’

Sylvain’s servants are too familiar for his liking. They remind him of Margot, the nanny that had helped raised him and Glenn. But he lets her help, puts his arm over her shoulders, and then lets her walk him to the bed, where she helps him lie down and tucks him in like someone would for a misbehaving child. ‘All done. Now I’ll go back to work.’

Felix nods, relaxing into the soft pillows and the mattress. He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift away, and, on the verge of sleep, he remembers.

Annette. Eloise reminded him of Annette. Sweet Annette, with the most precious singing voice and lyrics of the monastery, the Annette that tried to bake bittersweet cookies for him once. 

Dead, slaughtered Annette, resting under the grass of Gronder Field, while he is allowed to live on.

* * *

When Sylvain is told about Felix’s pitiful attempt at walking by himself, he feels the all too familiar anxiety revolving around his mental state spike. This is normal Felix behavior, pushing himself too hard instead of waiting, and yet it drives Sylvain to visit him that very same night.

‘The window was open,’ Felix explains, irritated. ‘It was bothering me because this place is stupidly cold. So I tried to close it.’ 

‘I see,’ he says, even if the anxiety doesn’t subside. ‘Felix, I told you to wait…’

‘I felt  _ fine _ ,’ he groans, scrunching up his nose and pinching its bridge between his fingers. ‘I am fine.’

‘Still, you should wait a little longer to walk. Or do it with someone to keep you company.’ 

‘I’m not made of fucking porcelain-’

‘I know,’ Sylvain says quickly, raising his hands. ‘But you’re convalescent. Everyone needs help after overcoming an illness, right?’ Sylvain can deduce he agrees by the way Felix stays quiet, or, at least, has nothing to attack back with. Good, because Sylvain would rather not argue anymore. ‘I could… well, I could help you, if you want.’

One of Felix’s eyebrows raises. ‘Do you have that much free time?’

Apparently, Felix isn’t aware that, for him, Sylvain would find a way to force the Goddess to add another hour to the day. ‘You’d be surprised with my time management skills, Fe.’

‘I don’t think you can surprise me anymore.’ Felix shakes his head, running a hand through the recently cut hair. ‘But fine.’

Sylvain didn’t expect him to accept so quickly, but he won’t complain about it. ‘Alright. Alright, then, tomorrow morning? After breakfast?’

Felix nods. ‘Sure.’

Sylvain sits close to him, covering Felix’s hand with his own, and, surprisingly, Felix doesn’t push him away. This gives Sylvain hope that things are going to be alright, despite everything. He needs to believe it, that this year of loneliness and the uncertainty of the last weeks haven’t been in vain. He wants to believe Felix will stay by his side this time and that every single doubt and question will be cleared up eventually.

But he won’t pressure him, he knows better than that. ‘Fe.’

‘Yes?’

Sylvain bends down, and Felix freezes, lips pursed and eyelids closed. There was a time, back then, when he learned that forehead kisses were meant to symbolize protection and shelter, a hand extended to help. He wants to do that for Felix, be the hand that helps him get up again and never lets go. He doesn’t want to give up as he did a year ago.

But it isn’t the time for kisses, not yet. He puts their foreheads together instead, hoping that this will be enough to tell Felix how he feels. His free hand wraps around Felix, squeezing it desperately.

_ I’d do anything for you _ , he wants to say.  _ I’d do anything for both of you _ .

Felix huffs through his nose but stays still, squeezing Sylvain’s hands back.

That tomorrow comes rather swiftly, with no news to speak of. Sylvain had heard his own mother say more than once that no news means good news, though of course she said it in the context of the Srengi forces not attacking them in a long while, or about no news from Miklan right after his disowning. 

It could also apply now: Felix is getting better at a normal pace, Aimée isn’t showing signs of sickness anymore, Sreng thankfully stays nonviolent towards Fódlan and Sylvain’s work is roughly the same. Because of this, it’s easy to plan out his schedule so he can help Felix get him out of this bedroom every day on top of the daily bath.

He should ask Felix if he’d mind eating breakfast with him every day. It would lift his own spirits for sure, but Sothis knows if it would do the same for him. 

He knocks on the door to Felix’s bedroom, and Eloise is the one that opens the door for him. ‘Lord Sylvain, welcome! Sir Felix is just about to finish his breakfast.’

‘Oh, good.’ Sylvain shoots her a smile, noticing a different detail on her hair. ‘Is that a new bow?’

She giggles, covering her mouth. ‘Yes, it is! Doesn’t it look great?’

‘It indeed does.’ His attention shifts then to Felix, who is sitting on his bed with a tray on his lap, devouring the little food that is left in there. Seeing him get his appetite back, with the crumbs around his mouth included, is heartwarming. ‘Good morning, Fe.’

‘Good morning,’ he says, after swallowing everything in his mouth. 

‘You sure were hungry this morning, huh?’ he teases, and Felix growls. ‘Remember what we talked about yesterday?’

‘About the strolls?’ Sylvain nods, and Felix cleans some of the crumbs away with his finger. ‘I do.’

‘Are you still up for it?’

Felix sighs. ‘I suppose. I’m bored here anyway.’ 

Perfect, because he would also be bored - and worried - out of his mind in his office. ‘Then, Eloise, could you tidy up a little?’

‘Sure thing, sir!’ For all her peppiness, she is as efficient as any maid with her experience could be. She quickly picks the tray up and offers Felix a napkin, and puts it on the tray when he’s done. ‘I’ll be leaving then, sir. If you need me, just call!’

‘Will do,’ Sylvain replies, opening the door for her. ‘Thank you for your service.’

He closes it and looks at Felix, who is pushing away the blankets. He already looks better than yesterday and all the days before it, with good color on his cheeks, and his face looks fuller. He’d arrived looking close to a bag of bones and cartilage. 

‘So, for the first day,’ Sylvain says, walking closer to the bed, ‘how about we walk around the room? And if you still have strength after that we could go to the hallway.’

Felix shrugs. ‘I guess.’

Sylvain holds Felix’s hands, and he sits on the edge of the bed. Felix breathes in and stands up, stumbling into Sylvain’s arms immediately. ‘Easy there.’ His arm goes around Felix’s waist, and Felix’s arm rests on Sylvain’s shoulders. ‘Now, do you remember what this room looks like? It’s the guest room.’

Felix and Glenn stayed in this room the few times they visited Gautier, being the closest free room to Sylvain’s chambers. He doesn’t think Felix would remember something so banal, but to his surprise, he nods. ‘A bed against the left wall. A wardrobe to the right. A window to the left.’ Sylvain hums and helps him walk one step. ‘There was… something next to the window and something else in front of the bed, against the opposite wall. I can’t remember.’

He can’t blame him. It’s been a decade since he’s seen this particular space. ‘Yes, you’re right. It hasn’t changed that much.’

‘That corner is empty now,’ Felix comments, taking another step in that direction. ‘That’s where…’

‘Where you take baths, yeah. Let’s turn around.’

Felix agrees. ‘You haven’t touched this room at all in all this time.’

Sylvain’s heart sinks. ‘...I haven’t, no.’ 

How could he? It feels like this small space always belonged to the Fraldarius brothers, so he hadn’t touched it ever since Glenn died and couldn’t visit anymore. He had ordered his servants to keep it clean and empty despite the disuse and had always given that door a sideways glance when passing by, remembering when Glenn would sneak out of there at night or he’d hear Felix’s tantrums because he didn’t want to leave.

So much has been lost since then. Glenn. Their king. Their prince. Their friends. Their country. Felix’s purpose.

They keep walking in silence, one step after another, and Sylvain wonders if Felix is having the same thoughts about the past and loss. Sylvain believes that there is something more, but maybe that’s because he’s the one that hasn’t lost all purpose: He’s still defending Fódlan from Sreng, he’s still wielding that disgusting lance. But Felix…

His breathing grows heavier, as does his weight on Sylvain’s arms, so Sylvain stops walking, and Felix stays still. ‘Are you alright?’

‘...Tired.’ 

‘Do you want to go back to bed for a while?’

He hums, and Sylvain hesitates before sliding his arm under Felix’s knees and picking him up. He complains but doesn’t fight it, resting his head on Sylvain’s shoulder, and he smiles. Felix has gained some weight since Sylvain last carried him like this. Good signs, among everything else.

‘I’ll ask someone to prepare a bath for you,’ he says, and Felix nods, accommodating himself on the bed. ‘Are you…’

‘I’m  _ fine _ . Just tired,’ he growls, massaging his temple. ‘Stop doing that.’

Whatever  _ that  _ is, Sylvain doesn’t ask. The words could even be directed not at him but at Felix’s headache, and it feels like any further prodding would make things worse, so he walks out of the room and looks into the hallway, finding a couple of idle servants. ‘Hey, you two!’

They’re startled by Sylvain’s voice. ‘Yes, lord Sylvain?’

‘Could you prepare a bath with warm water and take it to this room?’

‘Immediately, sir,’ one of them says, and both nod at the same time, leaving for the lower floors. Sylvain sighs and walks back inside, sitting on the edge of the bed.

After a few seconds of quiet, Sylvain decides to be the one to start the conversation again. ‘Hey, Fe, there’s something that I’ve been wondering for a while.’

‘What is it?’

'When you recover completely, where will you go?' When he gets no response, he takes one of Felix's hands on his own. 'You could stay here, if you have nowhere to go. I could help you get back the Fraldarius dukedom, if that's–'

'They don't want me there,' Felix cuts in, pulling away from Sylvain's hand. 'It would be pointless.'

'How do you know that?'

'They said so.' Felix sighs, running a hand through his hair. 'It might be easy for you here, but the Fraldarius household doesn't make it easy on those who betray their stupid kingdom.'

So that's why he abandoned everything and left. Sylvain feels like there must be something more, but this information alone explains many things. 'So you gave it up.'

Felix nods. 'To whoever the fuck wanted to take it. I don't know what happened to it, nor am I interested in knowing.'

'I see. Well, let's not think about that now,' he rubs the back of his neck, slightly uncomfortable. 'Have you thought about a second name for Aimée?' Felix's expression falls and he shakes his head. 'That's fine. There's still time.'

'The one you gave her is fine,' Felix whines, fidgeting with the hem of his blankets. 'I don't get why I have to think of another one.'

'You don't have to,' Sylvain explains, lowering his voice. He wants to hold Felix's hand again, but it doesn't feel like it would be a good idea. 'I just… Want to see what you would name her, I guess.'

Felix purses his lips, and Sylvain notices that he's thinking of what to say next. If only he could guess what's going on in his mind at moments like this.

Felix opens his mouth just as someone knocks on his door, and his head turns in the general direction of the sound. Sylvain responds. 'Yes?'

'We brought your bathtub, sir.'

'Come in, then.'

The door opens, and the two servants from before walk in, carrying a wooden tub filled with warm water to one of the corners of the bedroom. 

'Thank you,' Sylvain says when the two men bow to him. 'You're dismissed.'

He helps Felix walk towards the tub, holding him by his hand and waist and keeping him balanced while he takes off his gown and gets in the water. 

‘Is the temperature good?’ Felix hums, pouring some over his shoulder. ‘Good. I’ll get the soap.’ 

‘Give it to me,’ Felix says. And then he specifies, ‘the soap. I want to do it myself.’

Surprised in the best way, Sylvain nods, leaving the block of soap on Felix’s hand. His slender fingers curl around it, hesitating before actually starting to use it. 

Sylvain is limited to staring this time, to wondering what could be going on in Felix’s head. He can do this on his own, he’s demonstrating so much right now, but he still hasn’t asked him to leave. They’re completely silent - he’s sure he’d ruin the moment if he were to speak - and he’s little more than a literal shadow to Felix’s eyes. 

There must be something about his company that Felix enjoys, because he’s always been vocal about unnecessary or downright annoying things. The topics where he keeps to himself are very different.

But Sylvain can’t stand this silence, so he opens his dumb mouth and tries to get something useful out of it. ‘You know, we could visit Aimée. Not today, but… One of these days. Both of us.’ 

‘You say that as if she’s in another house,’ is all Felix says, avoiding the main topic. And maybe Sylvain should stop here, try again next time he sees Felix mildly receptive, but Sothis knows when that will be.

‘Yes, I guess I worded it weirdly,’ he laughs shortly, even if nothing is funny about this conversation, or the situation as a whole. ‘Anyway. My offer still stands. I think she will be happy to see you.’

‘Sylvain,’ he groans, exasperated - almost as if there’s something inherently wrong with his words. When Sylvain doesn’t reply, he continues. ‘She’s a baby. She doesn’t even remember I exist.’

‘What if she does?’ The suggestion makes Felix roll his eyes as he rubs some soap on his arm. 

‘She doesn’t. Stop romanticizing… fatherhood and babies. For fuck’s sake.’ He moves on to the other arm, turning his head away from Sylvain’s voice. Sylvain clings to the fact that Felix hasn’t said that he doesn’t want to see her. ‘But fine. You won’t stop being annoying about it until I do it.’

There it is. The small opening Sylvain was waiting for. ‘You know me so well.’ His voice sounds higher than expected, but that doesn’t really matter. ‘Let’s go tomorrow, then.’

There’s a beat of silence between his words and Felix’s reply, but he finally nods. ‘Alright.’

* * *

Maybe he should’ve said no. 

His excuse was that Sylvain would’ve been annoying about it until Felix had given in, and while that was true, he was more than used to it. During their days at the Officer’s Academy, for one, Sylvain would always insist on dragging him out of the training grounds to meet girls (boys, too, when Felix had come forward about being bisexual), despite such suggestions always ending with a death threat from Felix. During the war, Sylvain always wanted to drag him to those pitiful taverns full of people that would make Felix’s mind buzz uncomfortably. 

So it’s not like Sylvain’s suggestions are some sort of irresistible force: most of the time, they’re stupid. Most. Because after a too-long bath, Sylvain helps him get dried up and dressed, and Felix gets to wear something that isn’t a nightgown for the first time in weeks. The clothes aren’t his size; instead, they were probably lent from a servant with a similar physique to Felix’s, but he appreciates the loose blouse. He isn’t allowed to bind just yet, apparently, so he’d rather wear something like this.

Like yesterday, Sylvain holds him by the waist to help him stay steady on his feet, and Felix is silently grateful for it, despite how it may look like to the service and anyone else that could potentially see them. His legs still feel wobbly at times, he needs to rest every few steps, and stairs have become his nemesis. He almost falls down one of them, but Sylvain tightens his hold on him, pushing him back and pressing him against his chest.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks, and the unfiltered, raw worry in his voice makes Felix burn on the inside.

But they do eventually arrive. Felix’s hearing has gotten sharper lately, so he hears a woman’s voice and Aimée’s babbles when they’re still a few steps away from her door, and he leans forward instinctively. 

‘Felix?’ Sylvain mutters, and he hopes he hasn’t noticed the desperation in that gesture. ‘We’re almost there.’

Felix nods, straightening his back again. They halt after a few steps, and Sylvain knocks on the door, which opens shortly after with a creak.

‘Ah, lord Sylvain, lord Felix,’ she says, and Felix tries to look in her direction. It’s too blurry to properly distinguish her. ‘She was waiting for you two.’

Felix frowns, annoyed by the cackle Sylvain lets out. ‘She must have missed trying to eat the fur of my coat.’ Fur? Sylvain softly pushes him forward, encouraging him to enter the room. His free hand grabs Felix’s hand and guides him to the cradle. ‘There she is…!’

Felix’s hands flail in the air for a while, until they find Sylvain’s arms and Aimée with them. She’s silent - because she’s scared of him, his brain says, because she somehow knows about the misery that floats around Felix’s mind constantly - and Sylvain probably notices too, the way she just doesn’t want him here-

She whines, and the sound turns into full-blown wailing mere seconds after. ‘Oh, oh Sothis,’ he hears Sylvain say. ‘Not again… It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.’

Felix huffs, frowning as he puts his hands around Aimée, taking her away from Sylvain’s arms. Aimée keeps sobbing until her head rests on Felix’s chest. ‘Is she…’ Sylvain mutters, and Aimée grabs Felix’s blouse, pulling at it.

‘She’s probably trying to reach my hair,’ Felix murmurs, sighing. ‘She used to do that a lot. Anyway…’ Felix shakes his head, wrapping Aimée’s tiny hand with his own. ‘Sorry. Sylvain cut it.’

‘In my defense, it was very ugly. It’ll grow prettier, I promise.’ Sylvain’s arm goes around Felix’s waist again, and the other helps him support the baby in his arms. Felix is silently grateful for it; he’s starting to feel tired.

‘I’ll sit down.’ Sylvain hums, guiding him to the nearest chair. 

‘So she likes your hugs, huh?’ Sylvain mentions playfully. ‘How lucky. Half of the time I hold her she starts crying.’

‘It’s not that she _ likes my hugs,’ _ Felix groans, stroking the hair on her head. ‘It’s… Well, I don’t know. She likes to be held, I guess.’

Sylvain chuckles, stroking Felix’s hands. ‘I shouldn’t have underestimated your fatherly instincts, huh?’ Those words fall over Felix like a bucket of cold water, and his expression must change significantly because Sylvain’s voice changes, getting lower and more hushed. ‘Felix?’

It feels difficult to think, that familiar buzz he would constantly feel on his way to Gautier filling his mind. ‘Leave her in her cradle,’ he mutters, handing her to Sylvain. He takes her in his arms, and Felix gets up on his own, ignoring the strain on his legs. ‘I’m tired. I’m going back to my bedroom.’

‘Hey- Felix-’ Sylvain calls him, and his voice then sounds closer. ‘Don’t go alone.’

It’s not like he necessarily wants to go back to his bedroom. He wants to be alone, to get away from the implications of what Sylvain just said and the discomfort it makes him feel. He doesn’t have fatherly instincts, he isn’t a good father, he isn’t  _ made  _ for this. And he can’t voice it, because voicing it means humiliating himself and acknowledging that those thoughts are constantly on his mind.

But he doesn’t go alone, because he can’t. He can’t even go back to his room on his own, so he leans on the doorframe and takes the arm Sylvain offers him. 

* * *

Water pours into a glass, and Sylvain hands it to him. It helps with his dizziness and the cold sweats, unlike the silence, so tense a knife could cut the air between them. It gives him time and space to think, and he would rather be asleep than thinking too much.

Sylvain is, of course, the first to crush that silence. ‘So… Adelaide suggested something.’

His first guess is that she thinks it’s better if he never meets Aimée again. Which would be for the best. Not his ideal scenario - in that one he would’ve frozen to death weeks ago -. Dying is, in theory, so easy. He should be able to do it if he tried going for it a third time.

Sylvain and Aimée are constantly saving him, and he hasn’t done anything to earn it.

‘What is it?’

‘She said Aimée might be happier by your side,’ Sylvain says, and Felix frowns, gripping the half-empty glass. ‘Suggested moving her to your room. She will still be nursing her, but with her father’s presence too.’

‘Why would that be good for her?’ Felix shakes his head, taking another sip of water. 

‘She likes you, Felix,’ Sylvain assures him, covering Felix’s hand with his own and laughing shortly. ‘More than she likes me, anyway. I think… I think she missed you.’

Felix’s breath comes out shakily. ‘...I told you, she’s a baby. She doesn’t remember me.’

‘And yet I’ve never seen her more comfortable than when she was being held by you.’ He sounds so sure of his words, but that confidence doesn’t come off as real. ‘That smile you had on your face when you held her, too…’ Smile? He was smiling? ‘I know I said something that ruined the moment for you. I’m sorry. But, Fe… She likes you. And she misses you.’

And he misses her too, as much as it pains him to admit it to himself. 

‘Fine. We can… try that.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The illustrations in this chapter and the ones that follow are made by the amazing [Ghosties](https://twitter.com/ghostcandies)! Please do check out her other art as well, it's absolutely adorable. <3

Felix dreams vividly after Aimée is moved to his bedroom. They feel more like memories; running away from a monster in the middle of a snowy forest when his eyes hadn’t been damaged yet with a wailing baby tied to his chest. Sometimes the animal is a boar covered in blood, sometimes it looks like a specter that has risen from its grave to remind him of how many souls his blade has stolen away on his rampage, the longest search for death known to history.

Maybe it’s a mockery. He seeks death, he wants it desperately to end the nightmares, the guilt, the smell of death and metal that has been stuck in his nose from the moment they killed those bandits next to the Monastery. The Officer’s Academy, the place where he last saw Dimitri until he became a lifeless pile of blood and dead meat and all of his loyal lions followed him under the dirt. Annette, Mercedes, Ingrid, Rodrigue. All of them had followed him so diligently - had tried what Felix thought impossible, had believed in something that just wasn’t meant to be. 

Yet Felix would give his life for theirs. Because they believed in something, and he eventually stopped believing in anything. What was he supposed to do with himself after choosing his own path? What was his purpose, what was there left for him? Not even Sylvain deserved something like this, something so empty and useless, and so he left and took his sword with him because slaughtering was the only thing he could do well. And battling was the easiest way to die.

Yet the Goddess refused and gave him another reason to keep living, if only for a while. He made a mistake, he gave in to Sylvain’s sad smile and warm hands, to the affection he knew well. To the safety Sylvain was. But then he realized again that this wasn’t his place.

And when he thought everything was done, she became the new reason not to get killed. She, like Sylvain, doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve being the result of a mistake, she didn’t deserve all those months of suffering by Felix’s side. She deserves a family that will love her, a warm home where she will never go hungry again. He had made it his objective to arrive at Gautier and die because there was nothing left for him to do.

And yet- Sylvain had shown up, carrying him back home, to the place where he didn’t belong anymore. Had sunk his time and resources into someone who just wanted to die, who had tried it so many times. 

Felix laughs, rubbing his eyes. If only his past self could see him, the one who judged Dimitri for being a bloodthirsty monster, the same one who would judge Sylvain for his suicidal tendencies in battle. It would be so funny to see his younger self scrunch up his nose and deny any kind of similarity to those two wrecks.

Felix laughs louder, grabbing his hair and pulling at it until tears spring out of his eyes. The crack in his voice wakes Aimée, who starts crying loudly, and it makes Felix feel dizzy with guilt.

He tries to get up, managing to stand. Then he tries to put his hand inside the cradle to comfort her, but his arms seem to have forgotten how to hold her. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

He adores her so much, and yet he can’t do anything to stop her from crying.

The door opens with a creak, and he hears Adelaide’s quick steps. ‘Lord Felix?’

There’s light. A candle, most likely. She’s seeing him - standing uselessly by his daughter’s cradle, eyes glistening with tears. She’s probably questioning why he’s even here, why he stays when he isn’t needed or wanted beyond Sylvain’s whims. And he’d respond that he has tried, he has tried to die so many times, and then a horrifying thought crosses his head.

Maybe he should take a more active approach.

* * *

Something is wrong with Felix.

There had been ever since they showed up at the Golden Deer reunion. Something deep within Felix had changed, even if they’d spent five years together searching for Dimitri. Sylvain hadn’t paid much attention to it back then, thinking it was the awkwardness of meeting with their old classmates again.

On Gronder, he had run to Dimitri’s corpse as soon as nobody’s eyes were on him, even if it meant getting in the way of the Imperial troops. He had risked his life for a man that was, in all the possible ways, already dead. Sylvain remembered Ignatz’s words as they watched Felix kneel in front of his corpse, eyes wide open and sword stained with Adrestian blood.

‘This would make a fine painting,’ he had said, ‘to express the desolation of war. I am sorry, Sylvain.’

Sylvain had only nodded. There was something so raw in the way he had slain those Adrestian soldiers, shooed them away like they were nothing more than annoying flies. He didn’t know how to save Felix from this specific form of primal desperation, didn’t know why sometimes Felix would just spend entire nights in the training grounds. Sometimes Felix would punch the training dummies until his knuckles bled.

Rodrigue had died at the Battle of Gronder Field as well. 

Sylvain had decided to learn more Faith magic, because if he couldn’t stop Felix from hurting himself this way, he could at least deal with the aftermath. And Felix would ask for his help to heal, never explaining how he got those brand new wounds, and Sylvain didn’t need to guess. At some point during those healing sessions, they kissed.

Nothing changed as the war went on. Edelgard fell. Shambala fell. Sylvain said the words “I love you” genuinely for the first time, in a whisper that a sleeping Felix couldn’t hear. Looking back, maybe he should’ve said it out loud, into Felix’s ear, while he was still awake. Would that have helped anything?

He wondered that for a while, when Felix first disappeared into the cold Faerghus night without leaving so much as an explanation as to why. He kept wondering after their next meeting when he was part of that mercenary band. If Felix had known at the time they were going to have a child… Sylvain wants to believe he would have stayed. He would’ve been there for him, would’ve done anything for him, his happiness, and his comfort.

But things rarely turn out the way Sylvain wants them to. Because the ferocity and desperation he used to see in Felix’s eyes during the war and during his time as a mercenary has turned into something worse: he looks empty. Exhausted. Scared, even, whenever Aimée’s voice is audible over the silence of the manor. Angry Felix is normal. Scared Felix is terrifying.

His initial good appetite dies out, and he starts skipping breakfast and dinner, deciding to sleep instead. He keeps Aimée’s cradle close to his bed, but freezes at any attempt at interacting with her, leaving the work to Adelaide instead. 

And he won’t say a single word on the matter, on what’s going on inside his head. Pressing on would only make things worse: Felix would snap at him, accuse him of thinking he’s weak; or, even worse, stay silent. He’s recovering physically, able to walk normally if holding onto Sylvain’s arm, but his mind is in the same place it started all those weeks ago.

So Sylvain waits and prays that Felix will still be here tomorrow.

* * *

The smell of Almyran pine needles fills Sylvain's bedroom, even though, as far as Felix knows, he isn't a particular fan of that blend. He takes a sip of it, and Sylvain's finger stops tapping on the table. 'Is it good?'

Felix hums. 'Needs less sugar.'

'I'll take it into account next time,' he says. He sounds happy, for whatever reason, and Felix takes another sip. If there is something important going on, Sylvain will most likely tell him. 'I got good news today.'

And there it is. Felix puts the cup down, careful to leave it on its saucer. 'What is it?

'News from Sreng,' Sylvain replies, and Felix can picture his proud smile and his straightened back. 'They have agreed to a temporary armistice for at least a year.'

Felix sighs, clenching his fist under the table. 'And then what?'

'Then,' he explains, and his finger goes back to tapping on the table. 'I'd have to go there personally.'

Something in Felix's chest stings when he says that. Sylvain is leaving. In a year, he will leave to go into the territory of the people his family has been fighting mercilessly for centuries. 'Hmph.'

'What’s that expression for, Fe?' he asks, and the happy tone is still there. That's Sylvain, never taking his own safety fucking seriously.

'You have a daughter,' Felix points out. 'Keep it in mind.'

'Right. I'd never waste your hard work like that.' Hard work. Felix wouldn't define it that way, but if that mindset keeps Sylvain safe to raise Aimée, he can put up with it. 'Hey, Fe.'

'What?'

'I just wanted to thank you,' he mutters, and his voice turns into a sweet, tender thing that somehow feels dangerous. His hand reaches for Felix's, wrapping it in its warmth. 'For what you did. Loving and protecting our daughter.'

_No._

_He didn't do any of those things._

He slaps Sylvain's hand away, and slams his own on the table, hearing one of the tea cups pour the beverage on the carpet. 

'...Shut up,' he finally says. 'I didn't. Shut the hell up.'

'Fe.' Sylvain gets up, and Felix takes one step backwards. He doesn't come any closer. 'Fe, are you alright?'

A knot starts forming in Felix's throat, and an unbearable pressure builds up in his chest. 'No,' he murmurs. His hands are shaking- Sylvain is looking as his hands shake. 'No.'

'Felix, what's wrong?'

Everything is wrong. 'Everything.' His brain is full of white noise, stuffed with thoughts that go in every possible direction at the same time. 'There is nothing left.'

'What are you-'

'There is- There is no Faerghus!' He suddenly yells, trying to get these thoughts out of his head, untangle them and throw them away somewhere else, some place where they can't keep torturing him. 'No Duke Fraldarius! No stupid Blaiddyd king! There is no Felix!' One tear runs down his cheek, and he sobs, looking down at his own hands. 'I'm nothing. There's nothing fucking worthwhile about me. I can't- I can't be the duke. I can't- I can't fight anymore. I can't even- I can't even save one fucking baby from almost dying out there. And she doesn't need me! So why should I stay alive?! To be a waste?! I should die! I should fucking jump out of the highest window in this house and hope I break my neck and die already!'

He's crying, eyes full of tears, voice broken, snot falling from his nose. A disaster. A memory of when he was younger, when all he wanted was to be Dimitri's friend and be strong, a person that didn't cry when faced with adversity. Because he used to cry so much, and now it's like the tears of all those years are coming back for him, reminding him that, deep inside, he's always been a weak, pathetic-

'So that's what was on your mind,' Sylvain whispers, and his hands rub Felix's arms. It's such a gentle, careful touch it makes Felix's chest hurt. 'Fe…'

'Don't you- d-dare pity me,' he growls between hiccups.

'I'm not pitying you, Fe,' his voice cracks mid sentence, and Felix looks up. Is he crying too? 'Come on, you know me better than that.' Sylvain lets out a shaky sigh. 'I've… had those same thoughts, you know. About jumping out of windows and hoping I died and all that.' He laughs bitterly. 'Even if I tried to hide them, you always suspected it, didn't you?'

Felix nods. Sylvain's fighting style was like that: suicidal. He wanted to die and to do it in battle. 

'You're needed, Fe,' Sylvain whispers, wiping one of Felix's tears away. 'By me, and most importantly, by Aimée.'

Felix then shakes his head. 'N-No. She doesn't need me. You don't need me. Nobody does.'

'Aimée deserves to have her father.' 

'Not like me.'

'You're exactly what she needs,' Sylvain insists, pulling him closer into one of his hugs. His arms wrap around him and press him against his chest, and despite himself, Felix feels sheltered. 'I'm an idiot with kids. I'll probably spoil her too much and she’ll be a little brat… I won't be able to help it. She’s way too cute for me to resist.' He strokes Felix's back, while his tears still dampen his tunic. 'Meanwhile, you can be the strict dad, that keeps me from being an idiot and keeps her from doing dangerous things, but loves her just as much as I do… See? She can't be without one of us.'

It's terribly easy to picture it in his mind, this life Sylvain describes to him. It can't possibly be that ideal. He will make mistakes, because he isn't fit for this, and he should just die before Aimée can remember him. 

But if he could- If he could accompany her as she grows, if he could hear her first words and help her with her first steps, if she could forgive all those mistakes he would inevitably make, he… might be able to be happy with that.

'And… about me,' Sylvain continues, tightening his hug. 'This is selfish, I know, but… I love you, Fe. And I don't really mind you not feeling the same - but as long as you're safe and content, I am too.'

Bullshit. He knows well when Sylvain is lying. He wouldn't be content with that, but he would pretend to be, just so it wouldn't bother Felix, so it wouldn't cross any commitment line they both aren't ready for. 'D-Don't lie to my face, Sylvain.'

'... Sorry.' His voice cracks again, and he takes a deep breath. 'Sorry. I want you to say it back. And feel it back. But you don't have to. It's alright if you don't.'

He wouldn't be here if he didn't feel anything for Sylvain. He wouldn't have slept with him if his feelings weren't the thing that always brings him back home - to Sylvain, the only thing he has left of what used to be his life. And it's ridiculous how this realization has only hit him now.

'...I can't. Not right now.'

'That's fine, Fe.' He kisses Felix's hair, nuzzling it with endless affection that Felix doesn't feel worthy of. 'That's fine.'

'It isn't. Nothing is.'

'It will be, then,' he affirms. 'Eventually. It will be fine.'

Felix can, if nothing else, cling to that. They made a promise before: to die together, and he hasn't been able to escape it no matter how hard he’s tried.

Maybe he isn't meant to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Ghosties for their amazing illustrations for this chapter and the two that are to come. <3
> 
> Here starts part two: When everything starts getting better.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of the wind blowing outside and Aimée’s whining. She tends to wake up at the oddest times, and the slightest sound from her is enough to interrupt Felix’s light sleep, so he just sighs and gets up, lighting the lamp that rests by his bedside. 

He sighs again, staring at her, paralyzed as usual. What is he supposed to do? Put her back to sleep? Let her be? Call Adelaide to feed her? No, she’d cry if she needs that, and in a very specific way. If she wants cuddles, she’d ask for them. And if she’s pooped herself, she’ll cry so loudly that the whole second floor will know about the state of her clothes.

Felix rubs his face and sighs a third time, looking in her direction. ‘...What do you want from me?’ She babbles, and she’s probably tearing apart that poor little bear plushie of hers as they speak. ‘If you want to tear my ear off as you tried to do with him, forget about it. I’ve done more than enough for you as it is.’

She’s probably staring, and so he stares back. Have her eyes turned darker or does Sylvain’s shade of brown remain? It would be cute if she looked more like him. He had wanted her to be a redhead like her dad, with those freckles he used to stare at when Sylvain wasn’t looking - and when he was looking too, later on. Sylvain was, and probably still is, a naturally handsome man.

‘Why am I thinking about this,’ Felix whines, running his hand through his hair. It’s strange, to not feel it on the back of his neck when he’s sleeping, to not put it on a ponytail every morning. Even when it burned and he decided to cut it, it hadn’t been this short.

He gets up from the bed and walks to the cradle, hearing her babble again. Maybe it would be alright to pick her up? She might cry, but she might not. She might enjoy it, as she did before. If only babies could talk, it’d make his life a lot easier.

He hears the doorknob twisting quickly behind him, and his immediate reaction is to panic and turn around, despite not being able to see what’s going on. There’s another source of light, and then a familiar voice. ‘...Felix.’

‘Sylvain?’ he frowns. His voice sounds tense and Felix can hear his heavy breaths. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ he murmurs, closing the door and blowing the light off. ‘Nothing. I’m sorry.’

That doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. ‘Sylvain.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats, sitting on the other side of the bed - the one Felix doesn’t sleep in. ‘You’re going to think it’s hilarious, at least.’

Felix sits down as well. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s… I had a nightmare.’ Sylvain sighs. ‘It was very vivid. And I had… I had to…’

‘Come check if I was still here?’

Silence. Felix knows he has guessed right. After a while, Sylvain inhales deeply and seems to find the words he wants. ‘It’s not your fault.’

But it is, in a way. He told Sylvain about his suicidal thoughts, about his feelings of uselessness, he disappeared on him twice, and now it’s giving him nightmares. How many nights of anxiety did he spend while he was away? ‘It is.’

‘It’s not,’ Sylvain insists. ‘You don’t control what my mind does.’ But he influenced it, he did it in the worst way possible, so it’s technically his fault. He should just- die- ‘Felix.’

He hums, shaking his head. ‘What?’

He hears Sylvain shuffling and feels his weight on the bed and his hand holding his. ‘Can I… stay for the night? Here. If you’re comfortable with it.’

Felix closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the touch of Sylvain’s hand. ‘I’m not uncomfortable with it.’ It wouldn’t be the first time. They’ve spent more nights together than he can count, especially during the war, and if it will help Sylvain sleep tonight, so be it. 

Sylvain squeezes his hand then, and his voice is calmer. ‘Good… Aimée could sleep with us, too.’ Felix looks up, confused. ‘The bed is big enough for the prettiest little lady in Gautier, I think.’ He’s probably winking, Felix realizes, and it does get a brief, small smile from him. ‘She’ll probably love to get out of that cradle for one night.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he sure doesn’t trust his own judgement in caring for her, but maybe she would like that. And she can’t crawl yet - she can barely roll on her tummy. ‘As long as you don’t squash her.’

‘Felix!’ he says, as dramatic and theatrical as he can be without waking someone else up. ‘How could I do that to my sweet angel?’

‘You move so much when you sleep,’ he says, getting up from the bed. ‘And you’re also very clingy. It’s insufferable.’

‘Odd. You’re the only person that has ever complained about me being clingy… Maybe I’m only clingy with you,’ he snickers.

Felix shakes his head and hesitates before he puts his hands under Aimée, to which she makes a sound that almost convinces Felix to let her be. But she doesn’t start crying: she clings to him as soon as she can, grabbing his nightgown. Felix stays still for a while, expecting her to throw a tantrum at any moment, but she doesn’t. She simply stays in his arms, silent.

‘Felix?’ Sylvain asks. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Yes.’ He swallows, sitting on the bed again ‘Yes, everything is fine.’

He lays her down, accommodating her between them and keeping a hand over her stomach. Sylvain laughs. ‘She’s trying to grab my finger… Alright, it’s all yours, sweetheart.’ Felix huffs, getting up just to blow the candle and lie down again. ‘You’re so cute…’

Thankfully, Sylvain won’t see his tired smile now. This feels oddly domestic for two people who aren’t even married, and yet Felix can’t bring himself to be uncomfortable with it. Maybe it’s because of the darkness, but he feels safe as Sylvain pulls the blanket over them.

‘Good night, Felix, Aimée.’

Aimée babbles and Sylvain laughs again, and Felix relaxes into those sounds. ‘Good night.’

* * *

What was supposed to last one night and be an exception turns out to be relaxing to Sylvain, and, by how soundly Felix sleeps when they’re in the same bed -  _ like a damn rock _ is how he would describe it - it might just help him too. He wakes up to Felix’s sleeping face for the fifth time in a row, and a smile comes easily to his lips. Aimée lays between them with Felix’s hand resting on her, paranoid as ever that she will learn how to walk from one day to the other and fall off the bed.

He feels tempted to touch her cheeks, but that might wake her up, and he enjoys this moment of stillness before the day begins properly. However, it’s impossible to resist the temptation to at least stretch his arm and stroke Felix’s hair, so short and yet still so lovely. His fingers run through it one time, and then another, and then his thumb descends to the curve of Felix’s cheek, and Sylvain’s eyes drop to his lips. 

Has it been really a year since he last kissed those lips? No, even longer than a year, right? How could he have survived so long without them, without Felix in general?

They had never been apart for more than a year before. Even when everything went to shit, never had a whole year passed without them meeting, without telling each other what had gone on that couldn’t be explained in letters. Not even during the war were they separated, ending up on the same side of the conflict, even closer than before.

So Sylvain had thought, but now he thinks that maybe Felix had been growing distant from him without them even realizing it. He was impulsive, but he wouldn’t make the decision to abandon everything and disappear out of nowhere, right? There had to be a reason that Sylvain can’t grasp.

He wants to hug him, squeeze him in his arms like he would do most nights during the war; back when every single day could be the last one. The last chance to feel each other’s warmth. They had both been so close to death so many times that just being here is a miracle, and having a daughter with the man he loves is a miracle even if Felix might not feel the same way. 

Felix feels unworthy of being alive, and Sylvain is still digesting it, because it’s easy when it’s about him - he is a mostly worthless person, always has been, but Felix isn’t. Felix doesn’t deserve to have the same thoughts that have plagued Sylvain’s mind for so long. He’s gorgeous, he’s determined, he’s smart, he’s the strongest person Sylvain has ever known, and yet-

He doesn’t feel any of it. Just a similar emptiness as Sylvain’s, a black hole he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Felix groans. Sylvain takes his hand away from him as if Felix’s skin burned. ‘Good morning, Fe.’

Felix murmurs something, and his fingers curl around Aimée’s clothes. He frowns, but his shoulders relax and he sighs. ‘...Morning.’ Sylvain smiles, propping himself up to sit on the bed. The motion makes Aimée open her eyes slightly. ‘Is she awake…?’

‘She just woke up… Might start crying anytime soon.’

‘Hm…’ He nods, finding Aimée’s hand, and his expression softens as soon as her tiny hand grabs his finger. ‘It’s cold.’

‘It should be getting warmer sooner than later.’ They were in Pegasus Moon already after all… Which also means something else Sylvain only realizes now. ‘Ah, Felix, your birthday is coming up.’

‘Is it?’ he opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow, confused. ‘What month is it?’

‘...Pegasus Moon?’ Sylvain replies. Well, there isn’t anything odd about Felix having a loose sense of time, having spent weeks bedridden and recovering. ‘Do you want anything? We could throw a small party… I don’t think I could get you a fancy sword made in time,’ he snickers, ‘but...’

‘Ah.’ Felix’s thumb strokes the back of Aimée’s hand, and his eyelids fall. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Sylvain wants to insist, but by Felix’s dry tone, maybe he should wait. ‘Alright. By the way, can I ask you something?’

‘Depends on what it is.’

‘When is Aimée’s birthday?’

Felix’s mouth opens and closes a few times, and Sylvain purses his lips, anticipating the answer. ‘...I don’t know.’

‘That’s alright.’ It stings just a little, not being able to know the exact day his baby was born, but it’s not a big deal. ‘She should’ve been born under the Wyvern Moon, right?’ Felix nods. ‘And you two arrived on the 19th, under Guardian Moon. So how about Wyvern Moon 19th?’

‘That sounds right.’ He doesn’t look completely disinterested in the conversation, letting another sliver of hope sneak into Sylvain’s heart. ‘Wyvern Moon 19th,’ he repeats, making Sylvain smile.

‘What do  _ you  _ think, though, princess?’ She looks at him with big, sleepy eyes, and Sylvain snickers. ‘No objections, huh? I suppose that counts as approval.’

Sylvain sees the faintest sign of a smile on Felix’s lips. ‘I suppose it does.’

* * *

Breakfast in the Gautier manor is barely different to the rest of Faerghus, and Felix would even argue it’s worse: oatmeal every single day, sometimes with some disgusting fruit on top that nobody warns him about, a glass of milk, and dry meat, the only thing he can stand from the whole ensemble. Sylvain teases him constantly about being a picky eater, but he’s not at fault for having good taste. Besides, they’re in private, so he can tease a little if he wants.

It sort of reminds him of breakfast during the war, when they’d be marching towards the next objective and, sometimes, they’d retire to their own tent. Sylvain had always tried to be by his side, despite being comfortable with their Golden Deer peers. He would insist, twice at most, that maybe they could join said peers during meal times. Looking back, it’s obvious that he had tried to help Felix build meaningful connections with people that weren’t him, and he hadn’t been completely isolated, but…

At the end of the day, all of those links he had built fell apart under the immeasurable grief that squashed him after the war.

‘Hey, Felix. Can I suggest something?’

'What is it?'

'Would you like to… eat in the dining hall from now on? You, me and Aimée.'

Felix's fingers curl on the fabric of his nightgown. The dining hall, where everyone can see him and his small struggles to feed himself, witness what he has become- 'No.' Felix shakes his head, letting go of the nightgown. 'I'd rather… keep it like this.'

He hears Sylvain sighing, and that reaction puts a weight in his chest. Disappointment. Who can blame him. 'We'll stay like this, then.'

'Sylvain–'

'What makes you comfortable comes first, Fe,' he interrupts, and Felix stops feeling his weight on the bed. 'What do you feel like doing today? Does a stroll outside sound good?'

'...I suppose.'

* * *

On the day Sylvain decides for their stroll, the weather is decent by Gautier winter standards. Felix had never enjoyed horse riding nearly as much as his friend, but he was raised a noble, so getting on a horse is almost second nature to him. Sylvain gets on the animal shortly after, sitting behind Felix and holding the reins. Gautier horses are sturdy, with thick skin and hair to protect them from the cold, so it’s no trouble for this one to carry two grown men at the same time. 

‘There’s a lot of snow,’ Sylvain comments, and Felix lets himself relax and take in everything he can: the freezing wind, the sounds of the citadel around the manor, the smell of something being cooked. ‘Which is to be expected. It’s all white almost all the time here… In Fraldarius as well. At least there you…’ Sylvain pauses, but Felix doesn’t react to it. ‘They have some green around Great Tree Moon or Harpstring Moon. Usually.’

Felix hums. ‘Late Great Tree.’

‘That.’ Sylvain sighs, but doesn’t give up in his attempt to have a proper conversation with Felix. By what he can hear, they’re trotting away from the citadel, and his grip on the animal’s mane tightens. ‘Well, it’ll just be one short stroll… We don’t want you getting sick again. I wanted to bring Aimée too, but… Too risky, I suppose. Besides, she was probably sleeping.’ Felix liked watching her sleep. She wasn’t crying, and she felt warm and alive against his chest. ‘Was she a crybaby?’

‘I think all newborns are.’ Felix shrugs. ‘But yes, she used to cry more than she does now, I guess.’ Not that he’s had that many chances to spend a good amount of time with her yet. ‘She’s just growing up.’

‘Yeah… She becomes cuter and cuter every day.’ The sheer adoration in Sylvain’s voice does things to Felix’s heart, things he can’t properly explain. ‘Hey, Felix…’

‘Hm?’

‘You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but… There’s something I’d like to ask you.’

‘Depends on the question.’

He feels the horse turning around and Sylvain huffing. There are a number of things he wouldn’t be able to talk about just yet, but he doesn’t expect what comes out of Sylvain’s mouth next. ‘What happened to the mercenary band you joined?’

They left. They told him to go back to Gautier, because the house was probably desperate for an heir, and Felix had been too proud to do that. They kicked him out, looked down on him, decided he wasn’t worth keeping despite his strength; the only value Felix had left. They had treated him like a disposable tool and, while Felix would agree that back then he was little more than a living sword, he would’ve liked to believe he wasn’t so easy to throw away.

They probably called him names to his back. They probably never appreciated the work he did for them. Probably-

‘Felix?’ Sylvain’s warm voice brings him back to reality, pushing him away from the swirling thoughts his mind had gotten him stuck into. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I left,’ he says in the end, lying to Sylvain’s face. ‘I couldn’t stand some of their… policies.’

‘I see.’ If Sylvain believes his lie or not, he doesn’t show it. ‘I…’

After he doesn’t continue, Felix frowns and turns his head in his direction. ‘What?’

‘I was just trying to say… You have a home here. Now and always, no matter what happens.’

Felix hums, pressing his lips together. A home… Gautier had never been a proper home for Sylvain, yet now he uses that word for the manor. Probably because his parents aren’t here anymore.

But maybe Aimée and Felix himself are also a reason why Gautier manor is  _ home  _ now.

‘Let’s go back. I’m tired.’

Felix hears him laugh shortly. ‘Right. Let’s go back, Fe.’

* * *

Sylvain notices the restlessness in the home from the moment they step into the stables. It takes the stable boy a while to attend them, and he looks visibly distracted. ‘Something wrong, Clément?’

‘Adelaide has broken waters, milord,’ he answers, unsaddling Sylvain’s horse. ‘Some minutes after you and sir Felix left.’

‘Ah! Well, it was about time.’ Sylvain shakes the snow off his clothes, and hears Felix taking off his scarf behind him. ‘I suppose Pierre is out of his mind with worry?’

‘Indeed, milord.’ Clément chuckles. ‘Lady Aimée is in your chambers, being looked after by another maid.’

‘Thank you. Felix?’ He turns to him when he doesn’t respond, and sees Felix gripping the scarf, standing still on the stable. The direction of his eyes is aimless, and, while Sylvain is mostly used to his vacant stare, it’s obvious he isn’t paying attention. ‘Fe?’ 

He gasps, snapping out of whatever thoughts had him trapped in his own mind, and looks in Sylvain’s general direction, with his brows furrowed. ‘What?’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘No.’ He answers too quickly for it to be sincere, but he won’t ask, at least not here.

‘Alright. Here.’ Sylvain offers him his arm instead, and Felix holds onto it. ‘Let’s go see how Aimée is doing.’ Felix nods, letting Sylvain guide him. 

He warns him of any stairs, and Felix’s hand touches the walls as they walk with slower steps than usual. As they walk closer to the servants’ chambers on their way to their own, they hear the muffled sounds of several voices, most of them feminine. The labour has just started, and Adelaide is a strong woman, but Sylvain can’t help but worry. Even more so when he notices the way Felix is pursing his lips.

‘She’ll be fine,’ he assures him as they keep walking, and Felix doesn’t comment on it.

When they get to their room, a young maid whose name Sylvain can’t quite remember is hunched over Aimée’s cradle, and she straightens her back as soon as she notices them walking in. ‘Milord!’

‘Thank you for taking care of the young lady,’ Sylvian says, and Felix lets go of his arm as soon as he realizes someone else is in the room. ‘You’re dismissed.’

‘Yes, milord.’ The woman bows and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Aimée babbles, and Felix immediately turns his head in her direction. The cradle is in the same place as always, and he extends an arm inside it, offering one of his fingers for her to hold. ‘Did they feed her?’

‘I suppose so.’ He walks up to the cradle, peeking inside. Aimée is grabbing Felix’s finger as tightly as she can, and there is a tiny smile on his lips. ‘She’s strong, huh?’

‘Hm. I wonder if this is normal…’ Felix’s hands slide under her, picking her up in his arms and letting her rest against his chest as he sits down on the bed. ‘She sounds happy.’

_ You sound happy too _ , Sylvain thinks, as a burst of warmth expands over his chest. This is what he had wanted to see since he rescued Felix from certain death: him, healthy and alive and happy, holding their growing baby in his arms, looking as peaceful as a saint. He wants to hold his face between his hands and lift it so he can look properly at his gorgeous face, and then bend down to put their lips together into a kiss. 

But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he takes off his gloves and coat and sits by Felix’s side. ‘I think she’s at her happiest when she’s with you, Fe.’

Felix sighs, letting Aimée grab his cheek. ‘If you say so.’

‘Just look at her… You love being in papa’s arms, don’t you?’ He strokes her hair, decorated with a bow, and with Felix’s now short hair they look even more alike. ‘You know? My mother would always say I was a very shy baby.’

‘Hm. I remember hearing something like that.’

‘I barely spoke, always hiding behind her skirt…’ Which might have been due to Miklan and the late margrave’s influence in his life, two imposing shadows hovering over him. ‘Sometimes she’d get mad at me and tell me she didn’t go through all the suffering of labour for a kid that couldn’t even speak his mind.’ Sylvain laughs bitterly, stroking the small curve of Aimée’s nose with his index finger. ‘At some point I started speaking up too much for their taste.’

‘It was Glenn.’ Felix scrunches his nose at Sylvain’s confused silence, and he explains himself. ‘The one who told me you used to be shy.’

‘Ah, right.’ Aimée tries to reach for Sylvain’s finger. He doesn’t let her catch it just yet, smiling at her struggle. ‘Do you want your plushie, princess? I’ll go get it right now.’ He blows a kiss at her before standing up and getting her teddy bear from the cradle, which he shakes in front of her. Her eyes open wide - they’re so big and brown and  _ cute  _ Sylvain has to resist the temptation to kiss her whole face - and she whines.

‘You’re annoying her. Just give her the plushie already.’

‘Alright, alright… But don’t tell me I spoil her later.’ He holds the teddy with both hands, puppeteering it. ‘Hewwo! I’m Brown Bear! I’ve come to give the cutest lady in Gautier a hug!’

Felix snickers, a rare sight that leaves Sylvain speechless. How long has it been since he last saw Felix laugh so sincerely? It sounds like a church choir.

‘Sylvain,’ Felix calls him, with Aimée properly sat on his lap. ‘The teddy.’

‘Right. Right, sorry. Theeere we go…’ The bear lands in front of her, hugging her with its plushie arms. ‘Heck! Turns out the cutest lady was you all along!’

Felix bites his lower lip, perhaps suppressing another laugh, but he is definitely smiling, and Sylvain’s heart forgets how to beat properly. 

Eventually, even the echo of that laugh vanishes into the otherwise silent room, and Felix lies down on their bed, Aimée lying quietly on his chest. His hand rubs her back instinctively, and Felix’s eyelids fall shut. ‘It almost killed him.’

Sylvain blinks. ‘What?

‘My… father,’ Felix shifts, physically uncomfortable with that word, and his other hand strokes the back of Aimée’s head. ‘It almost killed him to have me. According to what everyone told me, anyway.’ Felix lets out a long sigh. ‘Aimée, as well…’

Sylvain’s heart skips a beat, as it does with every negligible detail of the time Felix was away. ‘Felix…’

‘I thought I was going to die. They were supposed to be there to help me, and yet…’

‘They?’ Sylvain frowns, inching closer to Felix. ‘What do you mean  _ they?’ _

The bedroom falls into silence once again, as Sylvain allows Felix to put together the words he wants for as long as he needs. Meanwhile, Aimée starts to doze off to Felix’s heartbeat. ‘I found a place. I think it was an orphanage. But I can’t remember it in detail.’ Sylvain nods, even if Felix can’t see it. ‘They let me stay. I was…eight months along, I think. I wasn’t counting.’

‘I see,’ Sylvain murmurs, resisting the temptation to stroke Felix’s face in an attempt at comfort. He must have felt so alone, so scared if he had been willing to accept a stranger’s help. ‘What happened then?’

‘They helped during the labour itself,’ Felix continues, and Sylvain can hear the strain in his voice. ‘But after that, when I was at my weakest, they tried to take her away.’

‘What do you mean, take her away?’

Felix stays silent for even longer than before, and, as always, Sylvain waits patiently for him. In the end, he shakes his head, dismissing whatever thoughts he was building in his head. ‘...Nothing. It isn’t important.’

‘Fe…’

‘She fell asleep, didn’t she?’ Sylvain looks at Aimée, who is snoring like she’s never slept before in her life. 

‘Yes. Deeply.’ A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. ‘Do you want to put her back in her cradle?’

‘No,’ he answers hurriedly, covering her with his hands. ‘Let her be. For a little longer.’

* * *

Night falls and, after dinner, Felix decides he must do something.

‘Is Adelaide alright?’ he asks, hoping it doesn’t come off as a weird question. But he’s in a hurry, and he’d rather mitigate this restlessness as soon as possible. ‘I’d like to speak to her.’

What face could Sylvain and Eloise be making? What could they be thinking? ‘She is fine, sir, as far as I know. She gave birth to a healthy young boy. However, I don’t know if she will be too exhausted for conversation.’

He gets up from his chair, his arms framing his body. He doesn’t want to sound like a brat - but he needs to solve this. ‘I’d like to see her nonetheless.’

Sylvain doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t try to stop him, or accompany him, or anything Felix could have expected him to do. Fine, that way he doesn’t have to deal with it. 

‘Understood, sir. Please, follow me.’

So he does, with his left hand always on the wall to guide himself, counting on his own instinct and the maid’s guidance. It would be a good idea to get something like a cane to help him out, now that he’s capable of moving and walking without external help. Sothis knows Felix despises depending on someone else for something as basic as walking around his house.

His house. He shakes his head, trying to keep that thought at bay. This isn’t his house. It might be Sylvain and Aimée’s, but it’s not his. 

‘Please wait here, sir,’ the maid says, and he nods, assuming they’ve arrived at the servant’s chambers. Their children should be sleeping already, and Felix questions for the first time if this timing is in any way proper. 

He is left alone in the hallway for an uncertain amount of time, resting his back against the cold stone. It could’ve been a minute, it could’ve been ten or thirty for all Felix knows, but she comes back. ‘She’s awake, sir, and willing to speak with you.’

Despite his sudden regret about his bad timing, it would be ridiculous to back down now, so he nods and follows her inside.

The room smells different to Sylvain’s - there’s wood, sweat, and something that makes Felix’s nose scrunch up. Not because the smell is inherently disgusting, but it reminds him of that place, the one that he despised with all his soul, full of small beds and people with misty faces.

‘This way, sir.’ She guides him to a chair, which he assumes to be next to Adelaide’s bed, and Felix sits on it. 

‘Is someone besides us here?’

‘Not really,’ Adelaide’s voice says, low and tired. ‘Unless you want to count small Pierre, but he’s sleeping.’

Felix shifts uncomfortably on the chair. The proper first thing to say to someone that just had a child would be… ‘Congratulations.’ It, at least, doesn’t feel as fake as he thought it would. ‘I’ve been told he’s a healthy child.’

‘He is,’ she answers, her tone rising just a little. Happiness. ‘How is the young lady?’

‘She’s alright.’ Felix sighs, placing his wandering hands on the armrests. ‘But I wished to discuss something else.’

‘Oh, my.’ He hasn’t seen her before, but he can picture her raising her eyebrows in surprise. ‘And what advice can a humble servant like me offer you, sir?’

Felix opens his mouth, then closes it again, rethinking his words. Now that he has to say his doubts out loud, they sound like the whimpers of a child that knows nothing of the world and always expects the worst of it. Indeed, what advice could she possibly give him? They’re not that close. She doesn’t understand Felix, and he doesn’t pretend to understand her. There is only one person left in the whole world that can try to understand and that Felix can open up to.

‘Do you… know of a way to speak of difficult things?’

She stays silent for so long that Felix is about to assume she either fell asleep or simply ignored him, but, ultimately, she sighs. ‘I’m afraid that’s different for everyone, sir Felix.’

Felix hums, fingers curling over the wood of the chair. His usual way of doing things has been words loaded with fury, with frustration. Lashing out at someone else. But this isn’t something he can do that way.

‘What I can tell you, though,’ she suddenly continues, ‘is that lord Sylvain has always cared deeply about you, and you should take that into consideration.’

_ I know that _ he wants to reply. He knows that Sylvain cares. Maybe too much, sometimes. The way he latched onto him and Aimée, when she didn’t even have a name yet and they both had one foot in the grave - ridiculous and counterproductive. 

‘Right,’ he replies curtly, getting up from the chair. ‘Rest well. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’

‘Rest well, sir.’

His way back to the bedroom is plagued with wandering thoughts. His nightgown is on his side of the bed, and he changes into it in silence as to not wake Sylvain and Aimée up, sliding under the blankets as carefully as possible. 

‘Fe.’

He should’ve expected it, but Sylvain’s still awake, waiting for him. ‘Why aren’t you asleep already?’

‘I didn’t know where you were going,’ Sylvain murmurs, and Felix’s hand meets his when he reaches for the baby sleeping between them. ‘So I couldn’t sleep.’

‘You’re an idiot.’ It’s a statement Felix has made so often in their lives that it has lost most of its strength. ‘You have work to do tomorrow.’

‘Yes… I sure do.’ He laughs shortly, stroking Felix’s fingers. ‘I guess I can’t sleep without you anymore. You pampered me too much, Fe.’

He huffs in response, inching closer to them, hearing their respective breathing. He has felt this before: during the war, when he would sigh in relief every night he got to hear Sylvain snoring by his side. After the war, when Aimée would stay strapped against his chest, listening to his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. 

‘Sylvain.’ He hums to indicate he’s paying attention to him. ‘I don’t remember… almost anything of the time when I was alone.’

‘...I see.’

‘And what I do remember, I don’t think I remember well.’

‘That’s alright. I don’t  _ have  _ to know, even if I’d like to. If you don’t want me to.’ 

‘I think I did something horrible, Sylvain.’

Something he thought he was somewhat justified in doing. But now… ‘What was it, Fe?’

‘I think I killed someone I shouldn’t have killed.’ He swallows. It goes back to him, those misty memories he hasn’t been able to decipher yet. He never bothered with them, because the answer had been so simple. 

Sylvain’s hand stays on his, stroking it, his touch as soothing as a lullaby, such a contrast from the blood in Felix’s mind. ‘Does this have to do with Aimée, Fe?’

He nods, although he doubts Sylvain can see it in the darkness of the room. ‘The person that helped me deliver her, I- I think I killed her.’

‘Why?’

_ I thought she was trying to take her away from me _ sounds stupid, even if it’s the truth. She had taken Aimée away from his sight, probably to bathe her, probably to examine her, and Felix had- his sword had- ‘I know I had a reason. But now I- I realize I might’ve been wrong.’

Sylvain’s hand leaves Felix’s, and the worst part of him fears his contempt, the regret of ever having rescued him. But, instead, that hand strokes his hair. ‘I don’t really know what to tell you, Fe. It’s not like I believe in the Goddess’ forgiveness. I don’t know what you can do to feel better. I just… I just ask that you don’t try to pay for it with your own life.’

_ Like Dimitri _ is what goes unsaid. Dimitri had sold his life to the ghosts that plagued him since the Tragedy, and for what? He had been killed like cattle in the middle of the war, now lying forgotten except as a cautionary tale told in whispers. His death hadn’t given anyone but himself any sort of closure.

‘I wasn’t planning to,’ Felix murmurs, covering Sylvain’s hand with his own.

‘Good.’ He hears the smile on his face, as tired as he is, and Sylvain’s thumb strokes his nose and lips. ‘...Good night, Fe.’

‘Good night, Sylvain.’

* * *

Lone Moon washes over the continent with its incipient warmth and the end of the year, everywhere except in Gautier. Here, the winter will still last until Haprstring Moon, when the sun will shine longer and stronger in the sky, melting the snow that will bleed into the rivers.

Still, the preparations for the Great Tree Moon festivities start. Sylvain feels it in the air whenever he goes outside: the children are allowed outside more often, some of the southern merchants make their way to Gautier lands after the long, unforgiving winter, and the snowdrops have started to spring into life, indicating that a new start is coming soon.

In one of his usual excursions to the citadel outside of the manor, he takes Aimée with him, carefully tucked under his jacket. Even then, she’s covered head to toe with the best furs available, and only her sweet brown eyes are free for her to see the world from her dad’s arms.

‘This is the first time you’re going outside the manor since you arrived, right, princess?’ Sylvain laughs. ‘Be ready. You’re going to be a little famous around here.’

She blinks in response, peeking outside of Sylvain’s coat like a kitten - the thought makes Sylvain smile even more, reminded of Felix and his occasional cat-like behavior. As they make their way through the city, followed closely by a guard, Sylvain takes in the fresh air, showing Aimée to anyone willing to listen to his rambles about how adorable she is.

‘Let’s get your dad something,’ he whispers into the coat as soon as a couple of elderly women leave them alone to attend to their daily chores. ‘Now, let’s see…’

The market has been set up for the whole day, and there should be something there he can bring back home to Felix. Something he can hear, or feel, that might make him slightly happier. The image of him sitting by the window, fidgeting with the hem of his clothes, is still ingrained in his mind.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he had asked, and Felix had shaken his head and barked that yes, he was sure, and not about to change his mind. And, as always, Sylvain had been riddled with fear of him making true of what he had said a month or so before and jumping out of that window.

But he couldn’t keep an eye on him forever. He wanted to believe in him and his promise that he wouldn’t pay for the blood of others with his own. That he wouldn’t leave Aimée without one of her fathers so soon.

Among the stands in the market, he finds one from a familiar merchant, a lady Sylvain had flirted with a couple of times with little success. At the forefront of her stand, a clay figurine of a bird painted in teal and deep blue with a couple holes carved into it catches Sylvain’s eye.

‘If you pour some water inside it,’ the woman explains, holding one in her hands, and Sylvain notices Aimée’s eyes fixed on it, ‘ and you blow into this one hole here, it sounds like a bird chirping.’

‘Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of those,’ Sylvain holds the teal one on his hand, showing it to Aimée, who reaches for it. ‘I thought they’d be more complicated, though. How much for one?’

One hour later, he’s walking into the Gautier manor and taking off Aimée’s hat. She babbles at it, perhaps annoyed that her head doesn’t feel as warm anymore, and Sylvain laughs as he makes his way to their bedroom.

He finds Felix by the window again, but, this time, his old sword is on his lap, as his hand cleans its edge with a rag. When he hears the creaking of the door, however, the motion stops, and Felix’s head jerks up in his direction. ‘Sylvain?’

‘We’re back,’ he announces, and Aimée babbles with his words. Even if it makes no sense, Sylvain smiles, thinking that she’s trying to announce her presence as well. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I… Hm. Told someone to fetch my sword. It was dirty and blunt. I’ll have to ask them for a whetstone later.’

He had almost forgotten about the sword Aimée came with. Felix’s favorite sword, that he had repaired many times due to some odd attachment Felix would describe as “its hilt fitting perfectly in the palm of my hand”. ‘I see.’ He sits by the window as well, leaving Aimée on his lap and holding her still with one hand, unbuttoning his coat with the other. ‘If you still remember your drills… You can start practicing them. It’s going to get warmer soon.’

‘What for?’ Felix groans, reaching for the sheath that rests on the floor. ‘It’s not like I can fight anymore.’ 

‘Well, exercising is always good for the body, isn’t it?’ Especially now that Felix has spent so much time bedridden. ‘Things don’t  _ have  _ to be useful for someone to enjoy them.’

‘I suppose,’ he murmurs, sheathing the sword and leaving it on the floor.

‘We brought you something.’ Felix looks like he’s about to ask who the hell “we” is until he realizes he’s including Aimée. ‘Extend your hand, Fe.’

He does so despite the way his nose scrunches up, and Sylvain gets the clay bird from his pocket, leaving it on his hand and curling Felix’s fingers around it. He watches as Felix feels it, discerning its shape. ‘A bird?’ he guesses. ‘It feels like clay.’

‘It is. It chirps if you blow into it when it has water inside… hold on.’ Sylvain looks around, spotting a cup of cold tea on the table. He takes the bird from Felix’s hands, pouring some tea inside it. ‘There. Try it out.’

Felix purses his lips, but, after some hesitation, decides to follow Sylvain’s instructions. The clay bird chirps, just as Sylvain saw it do back in the market, and Aimée babbles in response, louder than usual. 

‘Looks like she loves it,’ Sylvain mutters, gently pinching her cheek. ‘Do you like it, Fe?’

‘Hm.’ He leaves the clay bird on the table. ‘It’s fine. If Aimée likes it, keep it.’

* * *

Summer comes to Gautier as it usually does: the rivers finally melt into water again, the crops strong enough to survive are ripe and ready for collection, and with all of this, the citadel prepares for a regional festival.

Sylvain’s hand feels warm on his, gripping it tightly and keeping him close. In his free hand, he grips his cane, and he hears Sylvain talking to Aimée over the other sounds that surround them, and he tries to focus on it. ‘You haven’t seen this many people together before, huh? Awh… Her eyes are open so wide, Fe.’ There’s a pause, and Felix shakes his head. ‘Felix? Are you alright?’

He hums, because there is no reason for him not to be fine. And yet the sounds are turning into too much, bloating his head until it feels like it’s filled with heavy mist, blocking out his thoughts. 

'Felix.' Sylvain's voice sounds alarmed, and Felix wonders just how bad he looks. 'Felix, you're not alright.'

He wants to insist that he is fine, that he can keep walking and enjoy the festival, that he's not going to ruin this for them. But any attempt at being stubborn fails miserably when he tries to voice it, and only a pathetic whimper comes out.

'What is it?'

So, Felix does the only gesture he feels like doing: he covers his ears with his hands, breathing through his nose.

'I see. We'll go somewhere less noisy, alright?'

'Yes,' he answers weakly, and it doesn't sound like his voice.

His hand goes back to Sylvain's, and Felix trusts him with wherever Sylvain is taking him. Sadly, he is good at standing out, and so is Aimée, so, despite Sylvain's best efforts, they're still surrounded by people- humans that talk, and talk, and talk, and it feels like someone is rubbing sandpaper inside Felix's head. 

'Enough!'

It doesn’t even register that he’s spoken aloud until the buzzing around them has ceased for two seconds, and Sylvain’s hand rests on his back. He coughs and tries to salvage the situation. ‘I’m afraid my partner isn’t feeling all too well.’ Partner? Since when were they on those terms? ‘Please, excuse us.’

Even with the simmering frustration and anger boiling in the pit of his stomach, Felix lets Sylvain take him back home, in a tense sort of silence only interrupted by Aimée’s babblings.

* * *

‘What happened?’

It feels like a risky question, but also an easy one. This is not the first time Felix has reacted like this to huge crowds of people: ever since he was a child, he has been overwhelmed when many voices speak at the same time. Back then, he’d cry and have a full-blown meltdown, and during their teenage years he’d just remove himself from the situation, no matter how important.

This is one of the few times Sylvain has seen him scream, though.

It is a risky question because he’d bet his left hand that Felix would rather die slowly and painfully than talk about it. Instead of tea, a cup of fresh water rests on Felix’s lap, his fingers stroking the patterns on the cup. ‘I was in a bad mood.’

Sylvain would joke that bad moods have been Felix’s default since he was thirteen, but that’s not what he needs or wants to hear. ‘I see. I’m sorry.’ Felix raises an eyebrow, as if he doesn’t understand why Sylvain is apologizing. ‘I should’ve expected it.’

‘Maybe,’ Felix replies in a tired sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

Sylvain sighs as well and looks at the way Felix’s fingers keep tracing the patterns on the cup. ‘I got a letter,’ he starts, catching Felix’s attention. ‘Apparently, the Srengi are willing to sign a proper peace treaty with Gautier territory. A lasting one.’

‘For how long?’

‘Ten years.’

‘With what conditions?’

‘That I give them back part of the land that was stolen in the war, and increase commerce between us.’ Sylvain leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘I also suggested cultural exchanges in the form of language. The teaching of our respective languages to the other.’

‘Sounds good,’ Felix mutters. ‘You’re a good diplomat.’

That compliment makes Sylvain smile a little. ‘Thank you, Felix.’

Felix shakes his head in response, drinking what’s left of the water on the cup. ‘Any other news?’

‘Not much else. Things have been calm, for the most part… Ah, right. The Professor… Archbishop-’ it’s still so weird to refer to them like that, ‘is planning to reopen the Officer’s Academy.’ Felix raises his eyebrows, interested. ‘They say it’s going to be similar to our Officer’s Academy, but without houses. Weird, right?’ Felix nods. ‘What do you think?’

‘It feels strange. But it’ll be fine, I guess.’ 

‘Yeah…’ Felix gets up, leaving his cup on the bedside table, and lies down on the bed. ‘Felix? Are you going to nap?’

‘I’m tired,’ he groans. ‘Aimée is asleep. And I have nothing else to do.’

‘I could read something for you. There are many novels-’

‘You don’t have to read anything for me like I’m some sort of child.’

Sylvain opens his mouth, ready to argue that it has nothing to do with infantilizing him. But if Felix is tired, he will respect that. ‘When you wake up, we could try sparring.’

Despite being awake, Felix doesn’t reply.

* * *

‘A piano?’ Sylvain’s voice sounds surprised, and Felix fiddles with the hem of his sleeve behind his back. ‘I… I think we still have one, yes. Do you want to learn piano, Felix?’

He can’t blame Sylvain for his reaction. Felix had always been against those music classes his father had suggested, back when he was around eight years old. He, like most Faerghan kids were conditioned to, wanted to fight, learn the way of the soldier. He had never been too good at the arts, even if he enjoyed singing alone, and, unlike Sylvain and Dimitri, he hadn’t been forced to practice them.

‘I need something to do.’ That is Felix’s explanation, humiliating as it is. ‘Do you remember anything about it?’

‘Hm… The basics, mostly. It’s been a while since I last tried it out.’ By the way his voice changes, Felix can imagine the wide smile on his face. ‘We could relearn together.’

Felix shrugs, ignoring the warmth that blooms in his chest at the idea. ‘That sounds good.’

It takes two days for Sylvain to find a whole free evening, but when it comes, Felix notices his voice full of energy and the way he holds his hand, how he strokes it with his thumb unconsciously. He’s just slightly more cheerful than before. ‘Should we bring Aimée too? So she can participate as well.’

‘And how is she supposed to participate?’

‘Moral support, of course.’ Felix huffs, picking her up in his arms. ‘What? I’m being serious. Just looking at her pretty face makes me feel motivated. She has the roundest cheeks I’ve ever seen,’ Sylvain replies, resting one hand on Felix’s back. ‘Even rounder than yours as a kid.’

‘Shush.’

‘I’m just saying… she got it from someone.’

Felix wouldn’t say it out loud, but imagining an older Aimée looking slightly like him makes his chest swell with affection and pride. She has blue hair like him, and a roundish face like him. Will she grow out of it as Felix did? Will she imitate him when she grows a little older?

As tired and apathetic as he has felt so far, those questions light something up inside him - another emotion he can’t pinpoint a name for properly, but an emotion nonetheless, and that makes a whole world of difference.

* * *

The typical way of learning piano is out of the way from the start, but Sylvain has a sort of plan. Felix might not be able to see the sheet music, but he has a good ear for music and the spare time to practice. His hands will eventually remember the keys, it might just take a little longer than usual.

They sit together on the stool, rubbing shoulders, and Sylvain goes over the basics. Felix listens, but his hands hover uselessly over the keys. As the minutes go by, though, he starts moving with more confidence, and soon Sylvain considers trying out a simple song.

‘No need to overdo it, Felix. Just something simple, like…’ He hums the start of the first song he learned, and plays it for Felix. ‘That. Give it a try.’

Felix nods. The first two notes are correct, but then he starts to hesitate. He tries again, and the result is the same. Sylvain opens his mouth to ask if he wants help, when Felix slams his fists on the keys. Aimée, who’s been sitting on the couch, distracted with her teddy bear until this point, looks directly at them, spooked. She sniffles, and Sylvain gets up from the stool, kneeling in front of the couch and stroking her cheek. ‘It’s ok, Aimée… It’s alright.’ She sniffs a second time, babbling. ‘Yes, it’s alright. There’s no reason to cry.’

She hugs her teddy again, burying her face in its head, and Sylvain sighs, relieved. He then turns back to Felix, whose hands are now on his lap, and Sylvain notices Felix’s nails are scratching the back of his hand.

‘Hey, Fe,’ he murmurs, sitting back on the stool. He carefully covers Felix’s hands with his, taking them when Felix doesn’t react badly to his touch. ‘It’s alright if you don’t get it at first. You just need to practice more.’ Felix doesn’t reply. ‘Do you want to stop?’ Sylvain waits for what feels like a whole minute, until Felix shakes his head. ‘Do you want to keep trying?’

Felix sighs. ‘Yes.’

‘Alright.’ Sylvain guides Felix’s hands back to the keys, and Felix takes in a deep breath. ‘Let’s try again. The melody goes…’

He hums it again, and Felix repeats it after him in a barely audible voice.

The evening goes on as Felix keeps trying, Sylvain always close by, guiding him whenever Felix is lost. The previous scratches have left a mark on the back of Felix’s hand, but Sylvain tries to not look at them, and, by the time Felix sighs and says he is tired, the marks have vanished. 

‘Let’s go eat dinner, then,’ Sylvain says, standing up. ‘We’ll continue tomorrow.’

A small smile appears on Felix’s face, so quick it could’ve been Sylvain’s imagination. ‘Sure.’

Goddess, how he’s going to miss that face.

* * *

‘I’ll be going to Sreng in Great Tree Moon.’

He expected it. He did, he swears to himself he did, but it still feels like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. He has practiced what he wants to say, and what Sylvain’s answer will most likely be, and he’s ready for the argument that will arise from it.

‘I’ll go with you.’

It takes Sylvain a couple of seconds to reply, but, when he does, his voice sounds careful and low. ‘I don’t think you should.’

He tries to soften the blow, but deep down Felix knows why: he’s useless. Sylvain would rather keep him here, where he can’t hurt himself, where he can just have the most boring existence possible. Taking care of the children like a- a  _ wife  _ would. The thought makes him want to vomit and punch something, the first thing he can find, but instead of that he just props himself up on the bed. The bedroom is dark, except for one source of light that Felix assumes is a candle. ‘Why? Because I can’t fight?’ 

‘It’s not that.’

‘It’s exactly that,’ Felix snarls, still keeping his voice low for Aimée’s sake. ‘You think I’m useless. That’s why you don’t want me to go.’

A sigh, and the shuffling of blankets by his side. Sylvain’s muffled steps on their carpet, Aimée’s deep breaths, and Sylvain’s hands on his, just like when they played piano.

‘Felix, you’re a smart man. You’ve been  _ raised  _ for politics and battle. I don’t doubt your abilities in either of those fields, no matter if you’re blind or not. You’d never let that get in the way.’ His hands squeeze Felix’s. ‘But I need someone to stay here, taking care of the state while I’m away, and you’re the best person for the job. You don’t know the Srengi language that well, but I’ve been studying it. Besides…’ His thumbs stroke Felix’s skin, a pensive gesture that makes Felix’s frown deepen. ‘If negotiations go wrong, and something happens to me, I-’ his voice cracks, just once and just for a second, but it weighs on Felix’s chest, ‘I wouldn’t forgive myself for orphaning Aimée.’

Felix wants to tell him that he won’t die, that it won’t happen, but they can’t be sure. Sylvain has done nothing but offer advantages and compensations for the Srengi in his time as margrave, but old grudges are hard to let go of, especially those concerning the dead. Still… ‘I doubt they’ll shoot themselves in the foot like that.’

‘It’s not only about the Srengi, Felix. It’s about the way there, and the way back.’ Sylvain sighs, burying his nose in Felix’s hair, and Felix closes his eyes at the gesture. ‘Many things could happen.’

‘Your family has been here since the start of Fódlan itself,’ Felix groans, ‘so there isn’t anyone more prepared than you to make the trip.’

‘And that’s why I’m well aware of all the possibilities.’ Felix turns his head in the direction of his voice, and their foreheads rest against each other. ‘I don’t want her to grow up all alone, Felix.’

‘That would still be unlikely, even if I went with you.’ One part of his mind still yells at him that he’s being  _ left behind _ , that he isn’t  _ good enough _ anymore. ‘Just… Don’t go where I can’t follow.’

He imagines Sylvain’s smile - tired and tender, and it makes his chest bloom with warmth. ‘I won’t.’

* * *

It’s the first time Ignatz visits the Gautier manor on his own. Sylvain had warned him the way there would be tough, and even then he had underestimated him: this is colder than he ever has been down in the Alliance, and it isn’t even winter yet. It has a good side, though: Brand new landscapes to sketch and paint later on, when his work is done.

As much as he had rooted for Sylvain and Felix’s vague relationship during the war, it is hard to imagine them - especially the former - settling down for something serious. Sylvain’s parents died shortly after the war ended, and lord Rodrigue was felled in the battle at Gronder Field, so there was only one possibility left when he read in the letter that  _ three  _ people were to be painted in this family portrait.

His excitement grows with every step closer to Gautier manor, a block of dark stone that presides over the city that surrounds it. He shows the guards Sylvain’s recommendation, adorned with the Gautier family seal, and they let him in. A maid guides him to a parlor on the first floor, and Ignatz thanks her before entering it. 

There, he finds the margrave and ex-duke, sharing a cup of tea close to the fireplace. On the latter’s lap, there is a toddler, reaching for their father’s cup of tea despite having their own snack in hand, and Felix pays no mind to them. Against his side of the table rests a cane.

‘Oh!’ Sylvain says, finally noticing him. ‘Ignatz! You’re here earlier than we expected.’

Only then does Felix’s head turn in Ignatz’s direction, and he notices the scars around his eyes and the way they stare vacantly. ‘...It’s good to see you again, Sylvain, Felix,’ he greets, quickly putting himself together again. ‘It has been an adventure just to get here.’

‘Yeah, I can imagine. Come with us and rest a little, Ignatz.’

‘If that’s alright,’ he checks, and Felix simply shrugs. He takes it as a yes, and sits on one of the two free chairs around the table. ‘What’s their name?’

‘Aimée,’ Felix answers curtly, but his gestures betray his voice: Ignatz immediately notices him stroking the toddler’s cheek. 

‘I see. Hello, Aimée.’ She looks back at him with wide brown eyes - they remind him a little of Sylvain’s, but slightly darker. ‘I assume the portrait is of you three?’

‘Yes. We’ll leave the details for tomorrow, though, it’s late.’ Sylvain looks at Felix as he speaks those last two words, ‘the little princess will soon want to go to sleep.’

Ignatz feels a sudden tension grow in the air between them, stronger the longer Felix goes without answering. Only Aimée remains cheerful, playing with the hems of Felix’s clothes and shooting Ignatz a curious look from time to time. 

‘I suppose,’ he finally answers, picking Aimée up. ‘We’ll go ahead.’

‘Alright.’ Sylvain’s eyes follow them as Felix walks out of the room, and sighs when the door to the parlor closes. ‘Well, Ignatz. I’m sorry I didn’t serve you warm tea - as I said, we weren’t expecting you this early.’

‘That is quite alright, Sylvain. But may I ask something?’

‘What is it?’

‘Is Felix alright?’

Sylvain’s shoulders fall at the question, and he runs his fingers through his hair. ‘He’s been better. Everyone has highs and lows, and all that. Don’t worry much about it.’

Ignatz will try not to.

* * *

The day accorded to paint the portrait is an unexpectedly sunny day, by Gautier autumn standards. Sylvain and Felix wear the colors of house Gautier, red and black, and Aimée, dressed completely in baby blue, stands out between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Until September anyway, when the two missing chapters will be published. If you've read everything up to this point, thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed it immensely. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain leaves to sign a peace treaty with Sreng. Felix is left behind with their daughter, and an unexpected visitor appears.

Felix’s fingers press the keys faster than yesterday, making an actual melody out of the sounds the piano makes. It’s a melody Sylvain keeps humming even past the point Felix has memorized properly, and he follows Sylvain’s hum by tapping rhythm into the edge of the piano with his index finger. An old Faerghan lullaby.

‘You’re doing very well so far… Better than I ever was.’

‘I suppose it’s because I’m actually trying,’ Felix says, stretching his back. ‘You never liked it too much anyway.’

‘Not my style of thing,’ Sylvain shrugs. ‘I never thought you’d make a good pianist, though. Always so focused on the sword...’

For a moment, Sylvain considers that might have been the wrong thing to say, but Felix huffs instead. ‘Someone had to make up for your negligence. You almost got killed many times.’

‘It’s a good thing you were always there, then,’ Sylvain replies, softer than he intended.

‘Mph.’ Felix gets up from the piano stool, stretching a little more. ‘What about Aimée?’

‘She fell asleep mid-song,’ he laughs as he turns around, looking at the sleeping toddler curled up on the couch. ‘I take that as meaning the lullaby is highly effective.’

That makes the corner of Felix’s lip raise for less than a second. ‘If she’s so tired, she should be resting on a bed. I’m done here already, anyway.’

‘Then to the bedroom it is,’ Sylvain mutters, walking closer to the couch and sliding his hands under her, lifting her up as delicately as he can. She still opens her eyes, and Sylvain begs quietly. ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry… It’s just me.’

Like the good girl she is, she falls asleep again, resting her head on Sylvain’s shoulder. He laughs and kisses her hair, and they head to their bedroom in almost absolute silence. Once there, Sylvain leaves Aimée on the bed and kisses her hair, covering her with a blanket.

He looks up from their child and finds Felix leaning against the windowsill, half lidded eyes staring aimlessly at the outside world. ‘Not much has changed.’

Sylvain blinks, walking closer to Felix. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t imagine much has changed, anyway. Outside of this window, there is a citadel covered in snow for most of the year, more snow beyond that, and little else.’

‘Yeah. You’re right.’ He leans on the windowsill as well, with his back turned to the window to keep an eye on Aimée. ‘But many things have changed.’

His father, mother, and Miklan aren’t around anymore. Some of the decorations in the house have been changed. The Srengi haven’t attacked in so long. He has a daughter now. He is changing what the surname “Gautier” means, one action at a time.

‘What needed to change has changed,’ he concludes. ‘What didn’t, just didn’t.’

Felix lets out a long, exhausted sigh. ‘I suppose.’

Sylvain turns to him. His hand covers Felix’s in a careful, slow motion, and Felix accepts it. He raises it, hesitating before kissing his knuckles. ‘You’re thinking about my trip, aren’t you?’

Felix sighs again, dropping his shoulders. ‘Thankfully, I don’t have many other things to worry about.’

‘Well, that’s good, in a way.’ Felix groans, curling his fingers on Sylvain’s palm. ‘Because I’ll be back, and then you’ll have nothing at all to worry about.’

‘You better.’

Sylvain laughs at the supremely threatening tone of his words, squeezing Felix’s hand in his. ‘Hey, Felix.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I hug you?’

Felix’s mouth opens slightly, and then, much to Sylvain’s surprise, he nods. Sylvain’s arms wrap around Felix’s body, pulling him close to his chest and holding him firmly. He noses at Felix’s hair and feels tempted to kiss it - and then take the chance and kiss all of Felix’s face, including his mouth.

But a hug is enough.

‘I won’t die on you,’ he murmurs against Felix’s temple, ‘just like you didn’t die on me.’

‘That’s a weird way to rephrase our promise,’ Felix replies, and Sylvain laughs again. After a few seconds of silence, Felix’s arms go around Sylvain’s waist. ‘I’ll trust you on that.’

And that’s one thing that doesn’t need to change.

* * *

The wind blows mercilessly the day Sylvain and his soldiers are set to depart, and Felix tucks Aimée under his coat to keep her from the cold. Pierre, his new aide, is supposed to be standing by his side, and Felix hears the hooves of the sturdy Gautier horses gathering around the gates that will take them and their riders away from home.

The hand that is gripping his cane shakes, and not because of the cold. This is an amount of cold weather Felix is more than used to. His anxiety is related to the man leading the group, who leaves his horse to say one last - temporary - goodbye to them.

‘Felix.’ When he doesn’t answer, Sylvain continues. ‘I leave it all to you.’

‘Until you come back.’

Sylvain laughs. ‘Until I come back.’ His arm goes around Felix’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug that could be the last - but won’t be, Felix reminds himself. It’s just a “see you later” sort of gesture. In six months, Sylvain will be back, with his tight embraces and warm touches, and there won’t be enough wind in all of Gautier to fight it. ‘Bye-bye, Aimée. Don’t forget about papa, won’t you?’

She babbles something that, for a moment, sounds similar to a coherent word, and Sylvain chuckles again. ‘I guess I won’t be here for her first word after all. But that’s fine.’

_ Just make sure to come back and hear her speak _ , he wants to say. But he keeps those words to himself, sure that Sylvain already intends on it. Neither of them is planning to die on her; or the other, for that matter.

‘See you in six months,’ he says instead. 

‘See you in six months, Fe.’

* * *

The reports left by his father’s generation weren’t that far off on Srengi weather. Blizzards are even more common than in Gautier, but there are ways to guide oneself in the frozen immensity that is the immediate another side of the border. 

They find a familiar structure after two weeks of traveling in the Srengi tundra: a rather small chapel dedicated to Sothis, that someone built before his grandfather’s time. It’s a building of grey and black stones, just tall enough that Sylvain doesn’t hit his forehead. The horses and supplies barely fit inside, and most of his soldiers climb on the pews to make beds out of them. There are few words they can exchange beyond the rest of their planning and a tired “good job, everyone” from Sylvain. 

He accommodates himself against his horse, taking advantage of the animal’s body heat and ignoring the stink. If everything goes well, they’ll soon arrive at a Srengi settlement, and from there it’s smooth sailing towards the Srengi capital, where the negotiations will start properly.

And then… Then he will go back home to Felix and Aimée. He misses them so much that his chest hurts thinking of them, and his arms already miss the feeling of hugging them. It’s too late to run back home, and it’d be irresponsible on his part. It’d start a conflict he has been trying to avoid for years now.

But he can dream. He can imagine himself on his horse, rushing back to the Gautier manor. With his eyes closed, he pictures Felix standing by the door, looking up when he hears the hooves of Sylvain’s horse. Smiling when he knows he came back home safe, melting into Sylvain’s arms. Perhaps then Aimée would speak: looking up at him with her precious brown eyes, yelling “papa” to show him just how happy she is to see him again. Sylvain would pick her up in his arms and cover her round cheeks and tiny nose with kisses, and she would laugh so, so loudly.

Maybe, when he goes back home in one piece, he’ll have the bravery to ask for a kiss from Felix. He misses his lips so much, just as much as everything else about Felix. Their last kiss was back before Felix disappeared, a rushed thing that didn’t express in any way the feelings Sylvain holds for him.

With those thoughts and a silly smile on his face, he dozes off.

* * *

Sylvain’s first letter arrives just over two months after his departure. 

It happens in the evening, during Felix’s piano practice, with a knock on the door that Pierre attends to, getting up from the couch where he’s entertaining Aimée. She whines, annoyed, getting a huff out Felix. ‘What is it?’

‘A letter from lord Sylvain,’ Pierre replies, ‘for you. Would you like me to read it?’

Felix nods, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Yes.’

Pierre breathes in, and his deep voice starts narrating the letter.

‘ _ Hello, Felix. Our route is going as planned with few inconveniences, so don’t worry, we will be alright. We’re managing our resources just fine, and we should be meeting with the Srengi soon. The negotiations will take place at their capital, so there’s still a relatively long way ahead.’ _

Pierre pauses, making Felix frown and lean forward. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No, no.’ His amused tone sounds like a bad omen. ‘Please, forgive me.’

‘Continue, then.’

Pierre huffs and does as ordered. ‘ _ Do you miss me? I miss you so much it hurts. _ ’ Felix feels his cheeks flushing. ‘ _ I find myself lying to sleep at night and thinking only of you and Aimée, wishing I could hold you two in my arms-’ _

‘Stop,’ he groans, rubbing his face with his hands. No, this is too weird. He can hear Sylvain saying those words in his head, but- Pierre’s deep and raspy voice doesn’t fit them at all. ‘Goddess. Stop.’

Worst of all, Pierre is giggling at Felix’s mortification. ‘Would you rather have me give you a summary, lord Felix?’

‘Yes,’ Felix replies, face still buried in his hands. ‘Do that.’

‘He says that he misses you deeply, that he wishes to hold you,’ Felix groans again, ‘that he hopes lady Aimée is healthy and, most of all, happy, and wonders if she has said her first word already. Lastly, he sends affection and reiterates that he misses both of you and that he can hardly constrain himself from getting on his horse and making his way back home.’ 

Even as a summary, it makes Felix’s face burn like a furnace. Was Sylvain aware he’d need Pierre to read it for him? Did he really write all those things down, knowing that Felix would have to hear them from a voice that isn’t his? Goddess.

However, a babble from Aimée reminds him of a specific section of the letter, and a worry that’s been in the back of his mind for a while resurges. ‘Pierre.’

‘Yes, lord Felix?’

‘Is it normal… For her to not be able to speak yet?’

Felix knows little about toddlers, but it feels strange that she hasn’t uttered a single word yet, or walked a single step.

‘It is a little out of the norm, maybe. But I suppose each toddler has their own rhythm, sir,’ Pierre replies after a short silence. ‘If the little lady here can’t talk yet, it’s alright.’

Sadly, Felix doesn’t share Pierre’s positivity. ‘Do you think…’ He shakes his head, getting up from the piano bench. ‘Forget about it. Tell the service to prepare some tea for me and something for her to eat.’

‘Almyran tea?’ he asks, and Felix nods. ‘Understood.’

Pierre leaves, and Felix picks Aimée up from the couch to sit on it himself, sitting her on his lap. He strokes her hair, pensive, while she tries to reach for Felix’s. It’s growing so long that she can already graze it with the tip of her fingers. 

Could it somehow be his fault that this is happening? She isn’t an unhappy child; in fact, she’s the complete opposite. She cried plenty after Sylvain left, and Felix is sure she still misses him, but that aside she’s usually in a good mood. But if this problem persists, will she still be?

‘Baaaaaaaaaaa…’ she says, and Felix gently presses the tip of her nose, letting out a sigh.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he murmurs, and, despite his words, he’s trying to convince himself more than her. ‘I promise you will.’

* * *

Few positive things were said about the Srengi that reached Gautier lands. Some of those Sylvain could already confirm: They know how to party, and their alcohol is excellent. It’s similar to the alcohol traditionally made in Gautier - strong, warm, burning like a bolganone right to the throat. Quick and easy to get drunk on, even for a person with strong alcohol resilience like Sylvain himself.

Adrestian wines and Alliance champagne are fine, but this is something else. A Srengi soldier leans on him, laughing loudly at a joke Sylvain didn’t fully understand, but it sounded funny nonetheless.

‘ _ I want _ -’ Sylvain says, trying to find the correct words in his muddled mind. That is another nice part of being just tipsy enough: the classic embarrassment from speaking a disgraceful version of a language in front of its native speakers is mostly gone, but he can still keep some control over what he says. ‘ _ I- want to see…  _ hm, hm…’

He gestures to his heart, making what he himself would interpret to be a lovestruck expression, and the Srengi soldier laughs again, using a word Sylvain remembers to have studied before as  _ good friend _ or  _ lover _ , depending on the context.

‘ _ I want to see… lover mine,’ _ he finally manages. ‘ _ I also have… _ ’ He puts his arms together over his chest, making the motion of rocking a baby. 

‘Ooooooh,’ the soldier replies, thinking about the word himself. In the end, he gives up, hitting him with the elbow on his side instead. ‘ _ Lucky _ . _ ’ _

He doesn’t know exactly how to say it in Srengi at the moment, but he nods and smiles, hoping that gets the feeling across.

_ Yes, I am indeed lucky. _

* * *

He doesn’t see the moment when Aimée starts walking, but he sure as hell hears it: Adelaide’s gasp, the soft thumps of her tiny shoes on the floor, her pained whine when she falls on the floor and the following sob. He had always thought babies would always start by crawling, then standing, and then get to walking, but, as it turns out, children work in mysterious ways, and Aimée tried to go straight for the last step.

Felix picks her up from the ground, rubbing her arm. ‘Does something hurt?’ Sort of a silly question, considering she can’t answer. But she does, in her own way, making a loud “uuu” sound. Felix sits on the edge of his bed and holds her hand.

‘I think she hurt her nose,’ Adelaide says, ‘or forehead.’

‘Or both. I doubt it’s too bad, but...’ Felix sighs, and sits Aimée on his lap, resting his finger on the tip of her nose. A small quantity of faith magic is enough to distract her from the previous fall - and that’s good, because Felix barely remembers anything else from his faith lessons. ‘Better?’

‘Uhn!’ 

‘Good.’ Felix can’t help the small smile forming on his face, which disappears after a couple of seconds. ‘Hm…’

‘What’s on your mind, sir?’

‘Since she can walk now,’ Felix murmurs, stroking the space between her eyebrows with his thumb, ‘I think it would be good to have something signaling that she’s… moving.’

‘Huh, that is a sound idea… Perhaps like attaching a bell to her clothes?’

That would help, if only to know in which part of the room she is. Felix strokes her hair. It feels unruly, much like Sylvain’s. ‘That sounds good, yes.’

* * *

Sylvain stares at the two papers resting on the wooden table for the last time: black ink over a slightly yellowed paper, one in Faerghan Fodlanese, another in Srengi. 

‘Would you like to revise one more time?’ the interpreter suggests. Sylvain nods. 

His eyes scan the former version of the text. All the clauses are there, written as he accorded them, but it’s not the one he is worried about. He goes on to read the Srengi text, taking his time with the difficult words. ‘What does this mean?’

‘Oh, that’s… How was it...’ She rubs her chin, and Sylvain feels the eyes of his own knights and the Srengi warriors around him. ‘Property.’ 

‘Thank you,’ he smiles at her, and then goes back to the text. There are a few difficult words here and there, but everything seems in order. Just in case, he revises it a second and third time. 

Then, he grabs a quill and signs the treaty, handing it over to the Srengi chief. She smiles - a universal gesture, thankfully, that eases Sylvain’s anxiety a little - and rereads the texts herself. The interpreter runs to her side then, and Sylvain links his hands over his lap, holding his breath.

There are many reasons why he has to do this right. There’s maintaining peace in Fódlan, of course, and his personal fulfillment. But there’s also that he promised Felix that he’d go back home to him and their daughter, safe and victorious. This is one thing he can’t mess up in any way.

The chief says something that, to Sylvain’s words, registers as a “very well”, and signs both treaties just as Sylvain did mere minutes ago. She extends her hand to him, and he takes it firmly.

‘I’m glad we could reach an agreement, lord Gautier.’

‘Me as well.’

What follows are festivities, but even though he feels the joy of his soldiers and the Srengi down to his bones, he isn’t in the mood for drinking or dancing. Next to the fire, Sylvain gets his own quill, paper, and ink, and starts writing down his homesickness.

* * *

The forest is as cold as ever, but spring is making its way through the snow and the chill. Felix sits under a pine tree, holding a sleeping Aimée against his chest, giving her as much body warmth as he can. The rags he’s been wearing for months now aren’t nearly enough to keep them both warm, and the tips of Felix’s fingers have been freezing for a while now.

He sighs, and Aimée shifts on the cloth wrapped around her. ‘What is it?’

‘Uhn!’ She groans, and Felix reluctantly releases her. Oddly enough, she’s wearing a bright blue dress with frills and ribbons, but Felix doesn’t think too much about it. 

‘Do you want to take a walk?’ She nods, and Felix leaves her on the floor. ‘Don’t go too far from me.’

She doesn’t respond, toddling on the snow until she decides to sit on a specific spot. How she isn’t crying her lungs out, Felix doesn’t understand, but it feels like he doesn’t have to. He leans against the pine tree, lowering his eyelids, which suddenly feel heavy. But he can’t fall asleep. He has to protect Aimée. What if someone tries to take her away from him? What if she hurts herself and dies? Felix would never forgive himself. He has to take her back to Sylvain, where she will never be cold or hungry again. 

Aimée cries out, and Felix stands immediately, only then noticing the fire that has started around the clearing. His eyes catch on fire as soon as he tries to look for Aimée, and he screams to the top of his lungs-

Felix gasps awake, thick beads of sweat running down his temples and cheek. The room is pitch black, and his hands immediately reach for the side of the bed where Sylvain and Aimée should be. 

He finds her blissfully asleep by his side. Sylvain’s spot is vacant and cold, as it has been for months, and Felix wishes more than ever that he was here to help him settle down.

He rests one hand on Aimée’s back, checking if she’s still breathing. When he’s sure that she is, he pulls her closer, kissing her hair.  _ Everything’s alright, _ Sylvain would say. He can picture Sylvain’s smile in his mind, how he’d rub his arm to remind him of what’s real and what isn’t.

Has he ever needed someone’s touch this desperately before? 

In the morning, after an indeterminable number of hours unable to sleep, Felix requests water to bathe in. His nightgown has been sticking to his skin ever since he woke up, and now that Adelaide has taken Aimée away to bathe her, Felix can relax into the warm water. 

He wants Sylvain to come back. He wants it so badly his chest hurts thinking about his voice and touch. He misses Sylvain’s body on the other side of the bed, and it’s hard to imagine that at one point he had been terrified of that notion.

Felix is reaching for his towel when Pierre knocks on his door. ‘Lord Felix. I bring your breakfast.’

‘Wait,’ Felix says, drying his body and hair thoroughly before reaching for his clothes. His aide obeys, standing outside in silence until Felix is buttoning up his waistcoat. ‘Come in.’

The breakfast is as bland as always. Sylvain’s attempts at bringing some Almyran and Adrestian cuisine to Gautier haven’t been very productive so far, but Felix will take what he can get. ‘There is some news you should know about today, sir.’ 

Felix swallows down some bread. ‘And what is that?’

‘Some merchants are requesting for their accords with the margrave to be renegotiated.’ Felix raises an eyebrow. ‘And a bridge has collapsed near the border with Fraldarius.’

Fraldarius. The mere mention of it makes his stomach curl. ‘Has the duke said something about it?’

‘Not yet, but it could make connections with the dukedom difficult.’

Felix sighs. ‘We’ll take care of all that after I’m finished. Is there something else?’

A pause. ‘There’s a letter from lord Gautier.’ Felix’s head jerks up. ‘Would you like me to read it? Or just summarize it?’

‘...Read it.’ 

Pierre opens the envelope and unfolds the paper. 

‘ _ My dearest, Felix. I’m so tired, but I couldn’t just not put my thoughts somewhere. The negotiations have been successful: the Srengi chief accepted my proposals and hers weren’t that outlandish either. We’re celebrating now, but, after that, I’ll go right back home to you and Aimée. I have a lot of work to do as soon as I get there, and I’m sure I’ve kept you occupied by having you take the reins of Gautier. But I know you’re capable of this and more. _ ’ 

Something in his expression must worry Pierre because he halts his reading. Felix swallows through the knot in his throat and shakes his head. ‘Continue.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he mutters. ‘ _ I miss you two. I feel like I left a fragment of myself behind. Gautier might be the place where I grew up, but you and our daughter are my home. A warm and loving home I can’t wait to get back to. _ ’

‘That’s enough.’ Felix’s voice comes out weaker than he’d like. ‘We’ll get to those issues you mentioned now.’

‘Understood, sir.’

* * *

Sylvain sighs in relief as soon as he sees the Gautier emblem fly on the stronghold nearest to the border. He has never been so happy to see that giant block of grey and black stone, never so relieved to walk inside it and be welcomed by joyous Gautier soldiers. They celebrate his and the other soldiers’ triumphant return very much the same way as the Srengi celebrated the peace: they drink, sing, dance, make a mess of the fort and themselves, and their energy is contagious. 

Sylvain leaves the festivities behind as soon as nobody is paying much attention to him. He slips into the dark and damp hallways of the fort, making his way to the watchtower. As he walks up the narrow staircase, he realizes that this tower, for at least ten years, will not be used to warn of enemy attacks anymore. From now on, soldiers will watch Srengi and Gautier caravans go both ways with freedom. No longer will this place be what his father and ancestors made it to be. 

When he gets to the top, he rests his hands on the railing, smiling despite the biting cold wind that hits his face. Winter is coming to Gautier, but he is going home victorious without

having to stain the snow with a single drop of blood. He can appear before Felix and Aimée with pride, knowing he is making a better world for her to grow up in.

Whenever death comes to him, he will be sure to go proudly, but that’s far away still. Maybe, years ago, he would’ve considered jumping off this watchtower and have the blue sky be the last thing he sees. But now he has something to be proud of - Felix’s life, Aimée’s affection, Gautier’s peace - and goals and promises to live for.

Beyond the seemingly endless snow, there is a citadel covered in white, with small lights shining everywhere. In the old, dusty Gautier manor, his family is waiting for him.

* * *

Winter is coming to Northern Faerghus, and Dedue takes in the scenery. Sylvain wasn't kidding when he said Gautier was always covered in thick snow, but especially now: every person he has asked for directions has told him he's lucky he didn't catch a blizzard on his way. 

In any case, he has arrived at the citadel, and he loosens the scarf around his neck as he walks to the manor. 

'Dedue Molinaro,' he announces to the servant that receives him at the door. 'I'm margrave Sylvain José Gautier's old classmate and friend.' He doesn't feel like that's quite true, but Sylvain did like to call him a friend. 

'The lord isn't at home right now,' she says, guiding him to a parlor, and Dedue fears the worst scenario. Well, he has money to spend on an inn if necessary. 'But we could always ask sir Felix.'

Dedue frowns. He had known that back in the Academy there was some sort of romantic tension between them, but he hadn't expected them to be wed. And the swordsman had never liked him much anyway, to the inn plan still stood.

'If it's not a bother,' he says, and the maid smiles at him. 

'Would you like some tea?' Dedue nods. 'Alright. I'll get to preparing-' In the distance, both him and the maid notice a babble and the sound of a bell, followed by a deeper voice, and it makes her smile. 'Looks like the young lady is up to something this morning.'

'Young lady?' he questions, and the maid opens the door to the parlor. A small girl with a bunch of dark blue hair tied with a bell clings to her dress, and then proceeds to crawl inside the room, looking at Dedue with wide brown eyes. 

'Sir Felix, there's a visitor. His name is…'

'Dedue. Molinaro.'

Silence, except for the child's nonsensical babbles, and Dedue squats down to greet her. She looks around two years old.

'Dedue,' Felix's voice says, and Dedue looks up when the door creaks. The little girl gets up from the floor immediately, trying to run towards Felix. 'It's been a while.'

Dedue notices the scars around his eyes, which look aimlessly into the parlor, and his gaze goes back to the little girl and her bell. 'It has.'

Felix sighs, squatting down to offer his arms to the little girl. 'He can stay for as long as he wishes, so prepare a bedroom for him.' He picks the girl up in his arms, and she babbles something incoherent that he seems to understand anyway. 'He's an old friend of Sylvain's.'

'Understood, sir.'

The maid leaves them both in the tensest situation either of them has probably gone through lately, and Dedue coughs. 'What is the name of the young lady?'

'Aimée.’

‘I see.' He smirks as she tries to pull at Felix's hair and shove it into her mouth. 'I will only stay for a couple days.' 

Felix hums. 'Well. The service will take you to your bedroom when it's ready.'

'Thank you.'

Felix turns around, getting ready to leave, and Aimée waves at him from her father's shoulder. 'Aaaa!!’

Dedue waves back.

He is allowed to stay for as long as he’d like, so he decides to do so for a week. That should give him time to rest properly, plan his next steps more efficiently, and buy as many resources and souvenirs as possible for his friend. 

It takes two days for Felix to approach him directly. Before that, their interactions are awkward and silent, despite how enthusiastic the toddler seems about him. It’s like the opposite of shyness: she smiles as soon as she sees him, babbling nonsensically until Felix lets go of her to let her play with him. 

But the afternoon of the second day, Felix knocks on Dedue’s door, much to the man’s surprise. ‘Dedue.’

Dedue raises his eyebrows. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you…’ Felix closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s fighting himself to get the proper words out. ‘Tea.’

‘Tea?’

‘Tea,’ he insists, creasing his nose, which flushes more and more intensely with every second that passes. ‘You know. Having tea. Or something.’

‘Oh. I see.’ It is shocking, to see how much of this man has changed, and how much has stayed the exact same. ‘I wouldn’t mind a conversation over tea, no.’

‘Good. Good,’ Felix groans, deflating. ‘Later, then.’

‘Later.’ 

* * *

“Later” turns out to be the next morning and happens over two hot cups of Almyran tea. Felix has come prepared: he’s had two days to prepare what feels like a good apology. He isn’t good at these things, he doubts anyone is truly good at owning up for past mistakes, but he will give it at least a try.

But it’s easier to think about it than to do it. Now, he sits in front of Dedue, who is sipping his tea in silence, not much of a talker himself. Seems like that hasn’t changed that much. Another thing that hasn’t changed is how incapable Felix is of starting or maintaining small talk.

‘...The weather,’ Dedue murmurs after a while, picking what is probably the most frustrating, boring, awkward topic that could ever be brought up, ‘is… colder than I imagined.’

‘...I suppose. It’s been a cold season so far.’

Silence again. This is going amazingly.

‘The… carpet is gorgeous.’

‘Ah, sure, it is,’ which is a stupid answer to give to a stupid question. He doesn’t know what the carpet looks like because Sylvain redecorated some rooms while Felix had fucked off with the mercenary band. And, knowing Sylvain’s interior design tastes, it’s probably a subpar carpet. Felix takes a sip of his tea, trying to mitigate the embarrassment. ‘I think.’

‘Yes.’ 

Silence once again. This is getting frustrating. 

Screw the small talk. The best way to go about things, as always, is to go directly to the point. ‘Dedue.’

‘Hm?’

He has the whole thing prepared in his head, he only has to say it out loud, and then the thoughts that have been going around his mind ever since Dedue showed up will stop torturing him.

‘I would like to-’  _ apologize for my behavior during the years before and at Garreg Mach, _ which should be something easy to say, but something - his pride, embarrassment? - keeps him from doing it. Dedue waits in silence for him to continue, and it’s  _ unnerving. _ ‘I-’ Ah. To hell with the planned speech. ‘I was an asshole.’

He hears Dedue leaving his cup on the saucer. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’ Felix’s head perks up. ‘There were many times when that happened.’

‘...All of them.’

‘That is quite a lot to apologize for.’ He sounds  _ amused. _ He dares to sound amused when this conversation is killing Felix from the inside. 

‘And I’m- s- sorry for it.’ There it is. He apologized. It does make him feel  _ different, _ although he wouldn’t know how to explain it with words. 

Dedue’s finger taps the tablecloth a couple of times until he speaks again. ‘...I accept your apologies.’

That should be it. That’s how it works, right? He’s not supposed to say anything else. But some curiosity still pokes at his mind as he brings the teacup to his lips and takes a sip of it. It’s mild. ‘Did you bring him her head?’

For a while, the only sound Felix hears is the howling wind outside the manor. 

‘I did,’ Dedue replies.

‘And what then?’

‘I went back home.’

Simple answers to what Felix feels like is a complicated question. It’s even more complicated to specify what he actually means with it. ‘Was it… worth it?’

Was it worth travelling to Enbarr? Was it worth staying there as a spy, keeping track of Edelgard’s every move? Was it worth going all the way back to Gronder Field to present proof of her death? 

‘It didn’t give me the closure I sought, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Dedue finally answers. ‘But saying my last goodbyes to His Highness did offer me peace of mind.’

Peace of mind. Last goodbyes. Felix never considered that last concept to hold any value, especially after the glorification that followed Glenn’s death. There weren’t any last goodbyes he wanted to say back then; he had only wanted his big brother back.

But, with some distance, he could consider it. Talking to a carved stone or a spot in the middle of a cornfield is still a ridiculous idea, but he could try it. Maybe then…

He opens his mouth to thank Dedue, but before he can gather the strength to actually say it, his guest speaks again. ‘Looks like there’s a commotion in the citadel.’

‘Huh?’ Felix frowns, resting his hand on the windowsill. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know. It looks like…’ Felix gets up, grabbing his cane. ‘I’d say like a merchant caravan, but…’

‘There shouldn’t be merchants arriving at this time.’ His heart beats faster by the second, as he realizes what it probably is that Dedue has just seen. ‘It must be Sylvain.’

‘That would make sense. I suppose that means this tea break is called off.’ Again the light amusement in his voice, but, this time, Felix doesn’t really mind it.

Sylvain has come back home.

* * *

The sight of the citadel and Gautier manor is, for once, relieving. The place has always been a source of anxiety for him: coming back from Fhirdiad, Fraldarius or Garreg Mach had been one of the worst experiences of his life, like being thrown back into hell after a short time in heaven.

But Miklan and his parents aren’t there anymore. Only their ghosts remain, and even they can’t rival going back home to Felix and Aimée. The freezing wind is no different from the one up in Sreng, and yet it feels kinder just because he is unmistakably  _ home. _

He gets off his horse as soon as they cross the gates to the manor, taking off his hat and easing the scarf around his neck. It has already snowed in Gautier, because of course it has, and his eyes look through the helpful knights and service that come out to attend him.

‘Felix!’ he yells, as soon as he’s indoors again, taking off his outermost layer. ‘Felix, I’m home!’

‘There’s no need to  _ yell _ ,’ he hears him grumble, before Sylvain turns a corner and finds him. He stands in the middle of the hallway, one of his hands on his hip, and the other being grabbed by a - way too tall, way too big and way too adorable - Aimée, who stands almost completely on her own, staring at her father with wide brown eyes. ‘We’re right here.’

They really are. 

Sylvain picks Aimée up first with one arm, and she keeps staring at him - probably because of the beard, but she looks more curious than scared. With his free arm, he pulls Felix closer to himself, flustering him immediately. ‘You really are… I’ve missed you two, you know. So much.’

‘You write the most embarrassing letters I’ve ever encountered.’

‘They’re filled with love,’ Sylvain replies, feeling the wide, silly grin forming on his face. ‘Didn’t you like the-’

Felix’s hand cups Sylvain’s cheek, his thumb caressing the corner of his mouth, and Sylvain’s lips part to say something right before they touch Felix’s.

It’s the clumsiest, shortest kiss they’ve ever had, ever since their Academy days - Felix kisses mostly his lower lip and chin - and yet it’s the one that makes Sylvain feel the most.

'Felix, that…' 

'You-' Felix grimaces suddenly, rubbing his hand on Sylvain's face. 'You have a beard now?'

Sylvain blinks, and then cackles at the top of his lungs, accommodating his daughter in his arms. 'Yes? I haven't had time to shave. But I assure you I look very handsome.' He turns to Aimée, shooting her a smile. 'Don't I, sweetheart?'

'Pa…' she mutters, groaning something nonsensical, and Sylvain notices Felix holding his breath. 'Paaaaaaa... pa.'

'Wait.' 

'Holy  _ shit-' _

'Felix, don't swear in front of her! C'mon, princess, say it again? Papa, just like you did now.' She blinks, and, for a moment, Sylvain fears he might have misheard something. 'Papa, sweetheart, papa.'

'Pa-pa,' she repeats, slowly, but more confident than before.

'Yes! That's it,' Sylvain blinks away the tears that burn in his eyes and tries to swallow away the knot in his throat. 'Yes, that's me.'

'Looks like she waited for you just to say it,' Felix says, rubbing the corner of Sylvain's eye and wiping away a tear. 'Lucky bastard that you are.'

'I really am.' Sylvain's voice is shaky with emotion as he speaks. 'The luckiest man in the world, Fe.'

* * *

He had daydreamed about going back home to his daughter and Felix, but he hadn’t expected to meet Dedue again. From the moment Dedue had disappeared into the multitude of Enbarr, Sylvain had tried to make his peace with the fact that he might never see him again, despite their parting words.

_ ‘If you ever need anything,’  _ Sylvain had said,  _ ‘the gates of Gautier are open to you. I mean this, Dedue.’ _

Dedue had looked at him for an indeterminable amount of time, perhaps trying to discern if he was being sincere. But, judging by current events, Dedue believed in his words. It feels equally good to be believed and to see him, safe and sporting a mild smile on his face. 

In the span of a week, he has seen him walk into the citadel searching for the provisions he needed, play with Aimée and her clay bird, plan his trip to southern Faerghus, enjoy a read in one of the parlors of the manor, and simply stare down at the Gautier landscape while he knits something. What he finds in that endless snow and the spots of light under the manor, Sylvain doesn’t know, but it feels like his mind is far away from this time and place.

As all good things do, Dedue’s visit comes to an end. The day he departs, both Sylvain and Felix stand by the door, while Aimée clings to Dedue and his scarf to the very end, fidgeting with the gold adornment on it. ‘Well,’ Dedue sighs, content, ‘I suppose this is goodbye for now.’

‘Indeed, for now,’ Sylvain says. ‘After all, I don’t know if she will survive long away from you.’

That makes Dedue laugh, and he leaves Aimée on the floor, patting her head. ‘She will have to be strong, I’m afraid. However, I have just the thing to help with the wait.’ He kneels down and searches for something within his bag, pulling out a doll. It looks like one of the dolls usually sold at the market down in the citadel, but this one has a shawl with a pattern reminiscent of Dedue’s scarf.

Aimée’s eyes open wide like she has never seen a doll like this before, and Sylvain can’t help an embarrassed smile. ‘So that’s what you were knitting the other day… A doll! Ah, Dedue, you shouldn’t have.’

‘Dudu!’ she says, seemingly in agreement with her father.

‘I had to thank you for your hospitality somehow, so, please, do accept it.’

‘Dudu!’ Aimée turns around, showing the doll off to Sylvain and Felix with unrestrained joy. ‘Dudu, Dudu!’

‘I guess we have to keep it, then,’ Felix mutters after a moment of complete silence.

‘Be safe out there, Dedue. If you need to, you can always come back here.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind. This last week has been delightful.’ He picks up his bag, turning around to leave. He remembers something suddenly, turning back to the family. ‘Also, congratulations on your marriage.’

Felix flushes to the tip of his ears, focusing his attention on Aimée and her new doll instead. Likewise, Sylvain’s face turns red, and he rubs the back of his neck with an awkward smile. ‘Oh, no, no, it’s… not like that.’ 

As he speaks, he shoots Felix a sly glance. He strokes their daughter’s hair, his face turned away from the conversation. 

‘...I see,’ Dedue replies after an uncomfortable silence. ‘Well, congratulations on your daughter, then. She’s a charming young lady.’

‘She really is,’ Sylvain says, sighing in relief. That was a good way to save the conversation. ‘See you soon, Dedue.’

‘See you soon, Sylvain, Felix.’ His lips form a tender smile as he focuses on Aimée. ‘And to you, as well.’

‘Dudu!’

With that, Dedue walks out of the Gautier manor, turning just once to wave back at Aimée.

* * *

Back in the Academy, the prospect of going back home had been like a death sentence. Mainly because his father, mother, and Miklan’s ghost were there, always ready to remind him of his shortcomings and wrongdoings. Sylvain had enjoyed most of the year away, surrounded by his friends and brand new people to meet. The war after that, with his own desertion to the Alliance, had been far from pretty, but still preferable to being in the Gautier manor.

Now, however, things are different. Sylvain looks away from the letters and other papers on his desk, leaning back in his chair and letting out a long sigh. When he closes his eyes, he hears the first notes of a familiar song on a piano, and a smile immediately forms on his face.

He’s improved so much in these months apart. As he stands up from the chair and makes his way to the door, Aimée’s voice joins the song, and Sylvain finds himself walking faster than usual.

Even the hallway feels warm and cozy as he makes his way to the piano room. Aimée’s voice sings gibberish as the music goes on, and Sylvain peeks into the room.

Aimée stops singing as soon as she sees him, and a wide smile appears on her face. ‘Papa!’

Felix stops playing then, looking up. ‘Sylvain?’

‘Throwing a whole performance without me? You two wound me.’ Sylvain walks inside the room, closing the door behind him. He leaves a kiss on Aimée’s head, and another on Felix’s cheek. ‘Do you mind if I stay and listen?’

‘It depends on what she wants,’ Felix replies, ‘but I’m pretty sure she wants you to stay.’

Sylvain then turns to Aimée, putting his hands on his hips. ‘What do you say, princess? Do you want papa to watch?’

‘Hn!’ She nods energically, shifting on the piano stool. ‘Papa stay!’

‘Then it’s decided.’ He ruffles her hair, getting a laugh out of her, and sits down on a nearby couch. Felix’s hands linger on the keys for a second before he starts playing again, accompanied by Aimée’s cheerful singing. Sylvain leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. 

This is what a family should feel like, and these are the sort of moments Sylvain has been craving all his life. 

* * *

The Gautier manor is soon to receive another unique visit, however. Like last time, the wind blows and bites at Ignatz’s exposed skin as he fights his way through the citadel. He has arrived later than expected, at a moment when the sun has already fallen and not even his glasses can do enough to make his way clear. His painting materials are heavy on his back, even considering that he’s only brought the basics. As he arrives at the manor's gates, the guards notice him, and after he announces his name they let him in.

'Ignatz Victor,' the maid that receives him says, smiling politely. 'Yes, lord Felix and lord Gautier were waiting for you. Please, follow me.'

And he does, observing the same house he visited months ago. It looks the same, and yet, for some reason, it feels more lively.

They walk up the stairs, and Ignatz thinks they're heading to the master bedroom. But they keep walking into the hallway, and Ignatz notices a child's singing voice and a piano, growing louder with every step they take. 

'One, two, three, four, five,' Felix’s voice sings, and the child's voice follows with gibberish that makes Ignatz grin.

'Here, sir Victor,' the maid says, pointing at the door. 

'Thank you for your service.'

He knocks on the door, entering when Sylvain says "come in". He immediately notices Aimée and Sylvain's eyes on him - did they look this similar before? - and Felix's hands rest on the piano stool. 

'It's me, Ignatz Victor.' Felix relaxes just a little at that. 'I came because you commissioned another group portrait, right?'

'That's right!' Sylvain replies excitedly, extending a hand that Ignatz gladly takes. 'Hey, Aimée, so you remember Ignatz?' 

'I doubt she does.' Felix says, standing up. 'Welcome.'

'I hope the trip wasn't difficult… I swear these blizzards have the worst timing.'

'It was alright,' Ignatz assures. 'Did you have an idea for the composition of the painting?'

'Yes, but let's talk about it over some tea.' He winks at his daughter. 'And pastries for the little princess, of course.'

'You spoil her too much,' Felix complains, and she walks closer to her dad and clings to his tunic, followed by the sound of a bell. She observes Ignatz with childish curiosity, and Felix ruffles her hair.

As he follows them to the same parlor as months ago, Ignatz starts to understand why the whole house looks more lively.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being here! If you've been following this fic from the start, welcome back for the very last chapter! If you've just binged the whole thing, thank you! It took me a while to come around to upload the last chapter, and for that I apologize, but life has been complicated as of late. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, credits for the (wonderful, gorgeous) art go to @ ghostcandies (Twitter) who did an incredible job at bringing this story to life with me.

Dedue’s words remain long after he’s gone, and even after Ignatz leaves. During the winter there are even fewer activities they can take part in, so it’s mostly about following Aimée’s learning process: she’s learning words at a fast pace, trying to repeat anything she hears anyone say, and Sylvain has high hopes she will soon start to learn how to read.

For now, Felix and Sylvain themselves still are the ones narrating fairy tales for her. On this specific winter night, she curls up under the heavy blankets with Felix sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair. ‘And then the piglet’s house got blown away.’ Aimée giggles, followed by a loud yawn. ‘Because who even builds a house out of hay, honestly. That’s such a dumb thing to do.’

Aimée mutters something under her breath, and Felix grins, running his fingers through her hair and stroking her forehead. Her breathing turns heavy, and Felix stands up from the bed, careful to not wake her up. 

The fireplace still burns in the master bedroom. Sylvain stands in front of it, blocking what little light he can see, and Felix quickly closes the door behind him so the warmth doesn’t escape. When Sylvain doesn’t react, Felix calls out. ‘Sylvain?’

‘Huh?!’ Felix raises an eyebrow at Sylvain’s surprise. ‘Oh, Fe. Is she asleep?’

‘Indeed,’ Felix sighs, making his way to his side of the bed to find his nightgown. ‘Are you still thinking about this morning’s incident?’ A man had been found frozen near the walls of the citadel, and Felix hadn’t missed the tense silence Sylvain had received the news with.

‘I suppose.’ 

Felix starts unbuttoning his tunic. ‘That man won’t come back to life no matter how much you think about him.’

‘It’s not about that.’

‘What is it about then?’

‘That could’ve been you.’ Felix’s hands freeze over the last button. ‘I- I don’t know. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. And not only that but also-’ he pauses. ‘Everything else.’

‘Everything else?’ He continues undressing, leaving the tunic and the first undershirt on the bed. Sylvain doesn’t answer his question, but Felix hears him walking closer to the bed.

For a while, all that is heard in the bedroom is the crackling of the fire and the shuffling around of clothes. Felix has just pulled the nightgown over his head when Sylvain breaks the silence. ‘Can I ask you something, Felix?’

He shrugs. ‘If you want.’

‘Why didn’t you come to Gautier as soon as you found out you were going to have Aimée?’

Felix purses his lips. That is a big question, difficult to answer properly. ‘The work of a mercenary is very physical, and we didn’t have many resources anyway. So I was sure it was going to be… nothing.’ He had been certain he would miscarry before he could even worry about it. ‘And after that…’ How to put it into words? ‘My pride got the best of me for a while.’

‘I see.’ Sylvain throws a bucket of water at the fireplace, and Felix listens to the sizzling of the dying fire as he pulls back the blankets of the bed. He lies down, followed by Sylvain shortly after, who pulls the blankets over them. ‘I always tried to believe that you were still alive. Out there, somewhere. I never imagined we had a daughter, though.’

Felix grins. ‘She would cry a lot back then. It was hard to be stealthy with a crying infant glued to you. Especially when you only have sound and touch to go off.’

‘Right. Felix,’ he notices the small hesitation before Sylvain continues, ‘you don’t have to answer me, but… How… Did you go blind?’

‘Stole some food.’ Felix shrugs and shifts, moving closer to Sylvain. ‘They caught me. One of them turned out to be a magic user, and he hit me right on the eyes. I think they stopped attacking and let me go because they noticed I had a baby with me.’

Sylvain sucks in a breath. ‘It must have hurt.’

Felix scoffs. ‘Of course it did. It hurt for fucking _weeks_. My faith magic skill are limited as it is, so I could barely save anything.’ There’s a beat of silence while Felix musters the strength to says the words that follow. ‘I thought I was done for.’

‘But you weren’t. You survived.’ Sylvain buries his face in Felix’s shoulder, rubbing his back. ‘You and Aimée made it back home.’

‘We did.’ Although he wouldn’t have called the Gautier manor home back then. He strokes Sylvain’s hair and the back of his neck, and takes in the smell of wood and ink. He is happy as it is, but there must be a reason why, when he contemplates this life he has been given after all his sins, his thoughts always circle back to Dedue’s visit, the words he was told while they were drinking tea. ‘There are things I’d still like to do.’ 

Sylvain looks up from Felix’s shoulder. ‘For example?’

‘I…’ It still feels silly to say it out loud, put this ultimately irrational want into words. But Sylvain has always tried his best to understand him. Not even in his worst moments he had judged him. ‘I’d like to visit Gronder field again. And my family’s mausoleum.’

After another second of silence, Sylvain presses his lips against Felix’s shoulder. ‘Then we will. We’ll start preparing the trip as soon as we can.’

Felix then buries his nose in Sylvain’s hair, holding him as close as they can physically be. ‘Thank you.’

* * *

After the war, Theo learned that the world keeps turning no matter what. His brother died in Gronder Field with the son of the king he had sworn his life to, his lover disappeared a little after Cornelia’s coup, and his nephew likewise went missing after the war came to an end, abandoning the dukedom altogether.

That had left him alone and purposeless, so he went back to Fraldarius. There was no one else that could take the title of duke, and, despite his Crestless position, he had been accepted as such. It felt right, in some ways - he was, after all, a Fraldarius, Crest or no, and he would never let a stranger take over the house he had grown up in - and earth-shatteringly wrong in others. This was never supposed to happen. Rodrigue, Felix, and Glenn, all of them went before him in the line of succession, and Theo had been alright with that from the start. Contrary to regent Rufus, his political aspirations had been close to none.

This was never, ever supposed to happen. But time doesn’t care for his sadness or his mourning; Faerghus starts rebuilding itself in any way it can and Fraldarius has to follow. The people won’t stop starving or freezing to death just because the silence in the Fraldarius manor is deafening and the loneliness weighs like boulders tied to his ankles.

Similarly to him, the new margrave Gautier lost all that remained of his family shortly after the end of the war. Theo remembered him as a troublemaking teenager, the boy that would visit the manor at any given chance, someone Felix would talk endlessly about- second only to Prince Dimitri. The boy that had deserted Faerghus alongside Felix to join the Alliance forces.

Unlike the others, he couldn’t blame them for losing faith in Faerghus. Theo himself had lost faith in it, after five long, difficult years of Rodrigue fighting the Empire, convinced that Dimitri wasn’t dead. Still, he had been slightly surprised to find out Sylvain went back to Gautier to become margrave.

And, three years later, a letter from Sylvain arrived. It’s not the first time they’ve contacted each other, their territories bordering as they did, but this letter is different from the others. Instead of the usual agreements over different caravans or pathways between territories, he requested a visit.

Theo’s first guess was that something truly bad had happened, something like another war between Gautier and Sreng, but he’d have been notified if that were the case, wouldn’t he? But he has no idea why the margrave would visit him - with his _partner_ and daughter’s company, no less.

He has accepted nonetheless. The manor is too empty, and perhaps meeting the boy and discussing their losses, if he wishes to, will lift his spirits. 

They arrive with spring, when the snow is melting, the rivers go back to their usual flow, and the children have started playing outside. It feels like an omen, but of what, Theo doesn’t know until he makes his way to the entrance hall to receive them properly.

Indeed, Margrave Gautier stands there, with the fiery red hair that he got from his father and Theo’s former friend. Maybe it’s the beard, but he looks more like Maxim every day.

He then sees the little girl that clings to his tunic. There is something painfully familiar about her wild dark blue hair and the shape of her eyes, and by the time Theo realizes what it could be, she turns around to yell at his third guest. ‘Baba!’ 

‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’

His voice has changed since the last time they met, but it settles Theo’s suspicions instantly. They are only further confirmed when he joins the other two, cane in hand. His hair is shorter than before, and his eyes are surrounded by burn scars. 

But it’s him. This man is definitely Rodrigue’s boy.

‘...Felix.’ His grip on the cane tightens. ‘It’s you. Isn’t it?’

Felix sighs in response, turning his head to one side. ‘...Uncle.’

Maybe this spring has brought something other than warmth back to Fraldarius.

* * *

Hours later, Sylvain - not Felix - joins him for teatime, accompanied by his daughter. Her name is Aimée - beloved, Sylvain explains, smiling giddily - and she’s an energetic, talkative young lady, despite most of her “talk” being babbling with some actual words here and there. She reminds him of Glenn, back when he was a child: always with her eyes wide open, absorbing everything around her with endless curiosity, talking over everyone. Sylvain looks at her with pride and love in his eyes, and it warms Theo’s heart. 

‘...He disappeared for a while,’ Sylvain explains, stroking Aimée’s hair. ‘With a mercenary band. And when he came back, he… did so with her. And they stayed at Gautier with me.’ 

Had Felix never asked about him? About what had become of the Fraldarius dukedom? Why didn’t he try to search for his remaining family? Theo doesn’t have the heart to ask that, so instead he smiles, nods, and sips his tea, letting Sylvain ramble through small anecdotes about his daughter. 

Eventually, Theo excuses himself. There are many things he has to attend to, and even more things he needs to process. On his way to his office, his head is buzzing with thoughts of Felix, thinking that he couldn’t go back home for whatever reason. He would’ve welcomed him with open arms. They could’ve been a family again. They both could have avoided loneliness.

Though, to be fair, Felix hadn’t been all alone. He has a daughter and a partner who love him deeply. And while he is genuinely relieved that Sylvain saved his nephew, there’s also a small amount of jealousy to his thoughts. 

He opens the door to the office, and finds Felix there, with his back to the door. He stands in front of what used to be Rodrigue’s desk, under a portrait that was made shortly before duchess Fraldarius died. He turns his head when he hears Theo walk in. ‘Sylvain?’

‘No,’ Theo answers, shaking his head. ‘It’s me.’

‘Uncle.’

Theo forces a smile out of habit. ‘Did you want something from here? I can help you search for it.’

Felix shakes his head, turning back to the desk. ‘I’m not searching for anything in particular.’

‘I see.’ He can’t help much, then. Sheepishly, he makes his way to the desk, looking over the many papers he has to read and reread and sign. Felix stays there as if his shoes are glued to the floor. 

‘Is the portrait still there? The one with my mother.’

Theo looks up from his papers, first at Felix, and then at the portrait. ‘Indeed. I never had the bravery to take it off the wall.’

‘It’s an old portrait,’ Felix points out. ‘It must look worse now. Yellowish.’

‘It’s our family,’ Theo explains. ‘It’s comforting to have them there.’ Felix sighs heavily. Sentimentalism, especially regarding the dead, has bothered him so much since Glenn died. ‘Besides, it’s a beautiful painting.’

‘It is.’

There is quiet, and he takes another good look at the exhausted young man in front of him. The rather messy dark blue hair all of them shared, the tired, aimless eyes, his hands gripping the edge of Rodrigue’s desk like they’re holding onto a lifeline. This poor boy is so young, and so scarred already. 

He stands up, walking next to him to take a better look at the painting. From the canvas, Rodrigue’s eyes stare down at him, and he doesn’t know what exactly his brother would want from him as Duke Fraldarius, but he is sure he’d want his son to know this.

‘He would be proud of you.’

‘Would he?’ Felix replies, too tired to truly sound angry. It’s more like frustration. ‘Would someone like my old man be proud of a son that betrayed the country he defended to the very end? That watched his prince die and didn’t decide to die with him?’ Theo knows that face, the face Felix used to make when he was about to cry back when he was a child. But Felix stopped crying at thirteen. 

‘He would. Maybe he wouldn’t agree with your ideas, but he would respect you for upholding them. And he loved you, Felix. Didn’t you two write to each other during the war, until the very end?’ Theo reminds him, and Felix bites his lower lip, still trying to keep the tears inside. ‘Even if it wasn’t the exact way he wanted, you were still fighting for justice and the freedom of Fódlan. And… The greatest thing that can happen to a father is that his children go on to outlive him.’

Felix winces but swallows down whatever words he was about to say. Bringing up Glenn sounds like a low blow, now that he’s said it out loud, but it also happens to be the truth: Rodrigue would’ve wanted his children to survive.

‘He never told me those things. It was all about the chivalry and the honor of dying. Glenn died and he made… something glorious out of it. He probably thought dying at Gronder under the orders of that madman was glorious. And I don’t want to die. I want to survive. I want to-’ Felix chokes on his words, running his fingers through his hair. ‘I want to live. I want Aimée and Sylvain to live - but I can’t protect them. Not like this. I can’t.’

‘But the war ended long ago, Felix.’ He rests his hand gently on Felix’s arm, half expecting him to refuse it. He doesn’t. ‘You don’t have to fight anymore.’

That does it: Felix tears up, hiccuping before covering his face with his hands, and Theo leads him to the nearest chair, standing by him silently until the tears run out.

* * *

He still remembers where his brother’s grave is: it lies near the small chapel where the Fraldarius family used to carry out the Seiros religious rites. There’s a mausoleum built of white stone where his brother’s armor is, and next to it is the place where their father’s remains rest. 

Aimée clings to his hand, pointing at all the things Felix can’t see and trying to name them as he tries to guess what they could be. Sylvain follows them quietly, squeezing his shoulder when they arrive at the Fraldarius mausoleum. ‘Here.’ Felix nods.

‘Thanks.’

‘Do you want me to leave?’

‘It’s alright.’ He sits down on the floor, sitting Aimée on his lap, much to her confusion. 

What now? As with many things, he had thought previously about what to say, yet now the words that seemed perfect five minutes ago feel dry in his mouth. What is he doing here, talking to a pile of stones, armor, and bones? What was the point of doing this? Can he even do it?

‘Baba?’ 

He strokes Aimée’s hair, forcing a small smile for her. ‘This is- A mausoleum,’ he starts explaining, although that’s a word far too difficult for her. ‘It’s where…’ He can’t talk about death to a toddler yet, can he? ‘People rest for a long time. People leave flowers for the ones resting inside.’

‘Ooooh.’

‘The people resting inside are…’

_Your uncle and grandfather_ would be Felix’s next words if the mere thought of them didn’t put a knot in his throat. Glenn died before even becoming an adult, Rodrigue died too soon to see his granddaughter, and maybe the problem is that Felix is still trying to make some sense of it when it has none. They’ll never meet her, she’ll never meet them beyond the stories Felix decides to tell her, and that’s just how the world works.

‘Aimée.’ Sylvain’s voice interrupts his thoughts, gentle and warm like a ray of sunlight. ‘Do you want to go get some flowers with papa?’

‘Yes!’ 

She hops out of Felix’s lap, and Sylvain lifts her in his arms, kissing her cheek. ‘We’ll get the prettiest flowers, won’t we?’

‘Fowe! Fowe!’

Sylvain laughs shortly. ‘We’ll come back after we pick the flowers, Fe.’ 

‘Alright.’

When their steps sound far away from him, Felix sighs. Here he is, about to talk to a pile of stones like they’re actually Glenn and Rodrigue somehow. But if there is any chance that they _are_ indeed watching and listening to him… 

‘That was… my daughter,’ he murmurs, so low he barely hears his own voice. ‘Her name’s Aimée. Sylvain named her. He’s a really good father. Adores his daughter more than anything in the world.’ Felix lets out a weak laugh. ‘He loves me too. And I… love him as well. I had a hunch uncle Theo was here, but I never had the bravery to face him until now. I thought he’d hate me, but he didn’t.’ Felix sighs, dropping his shoulders and pursing his lips. ‘Even though I feel like I don’t deserve it, I think I have… a family now. I just wanted you to know. That I’m fine down here.’

His brother and father had been such worrywarts back when Felix was a child. If the Goddess is real, and they really are with her watching over him, they must have been worried for a long time.

‘I miss you,’ he admits in a whisper, and immediately feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. ‘But I’ll keep going nonetheless.’

With that, he stands up and waits. Sylvain and Aimée come back shortly after he’s done. He hears Aimée’s hurried steps on the stone as she calls him, and he can’t help but smile. ‘Baba!’

‘Did you pick many flowers?’

‘Uh-huh! Many fowe!’

‘C’mon, princess, tell baba which colors they are.’

‘Uhm… Pink… and _ite_ . And… Uhm… _Pople_.’ 

‘They sound like very pretty flowers. I bet they will like them a lot.’ She shrieks in excitement, widening Felix’s smile. ‘How about you give the flowers yourself?’

‘Just leave them here… Yes, at the door,’ Sylvain says. ‘Just like that! You’re so smart, princess.’

‘I’m smat!’ She declares proudly, and Felix notices her tugging at his tunic. ‘Baba! I’m smat!’

‘Very smart.’ Felix ruffles her hair, feeling his heart melt in his chest. ‘Now, let’s go back inside. It’s getting chilly. You lead the way, Aimée.’

‘Yes!’ 

Sylvain’s hand rests on the small of Felix’s back. ‘Are you alright?’ 

Felix nods. ‘It went well.’

‘Good.’ Sylvain kisses Felix’s hair, lingering there for a second too long, and Felix revels in the feeling.

Less than a week later, they leave the dukedom behind. Sylvain notices a small smile on Felix’s face as they say goodbye to the Duke, but doesn’t comment on it.

* * *

Felix steps down from the carriage, holding Sylvain’s hand with his right and his cane with his left. The wind rises as soon as his feet touch the floor, whistling in between the crops, and the warmth of the southern sun strokes his face. Aimée calls for them from a servant’s lap, and Sylvain leans into the carriage to calm her down.

‘Papa and baba will be back soon, princess,’ he says, and she groans, resigned.

‘The crops are growing nicely,’ Sylvain comments, and tugs at his hand, guiding him through the field. Felix wishes he could see it properly: cereal and other nurturing elements growing where once he only saw - and inflicted- bloodshed. ‘I hope the harvest will be good this year for everyone.’

There is barely anything more general he can say at a moment like this, but maybe it’s better than Felix’s absolute silence. There is a reverence about this place, where the ghosts of the fallen- Bernadetta, Mercedes, _Dimitri_ \- remained, waited. What could they want from him? If it’s death, maybe he was willing to forfeit his own blood to pacify them, once. But he can’t offer that anymore.

Wood creaks under his feet, and Felix knows where they are: The bridge, followed by plains, and then stairs. He remembers it vividly: The fire that engulfed Bernadetta’s corpse, the last wail he heard from her while his own flesh burned. Then his eyes had met Petra’s, and he could still see the glistening tears in them.

She and Bernadetta had been very close, after all. And that was just one severed bond; hundreds of them were falling apart around them every second. 

So much destruction, and yet the crops thrived, the people collected them, and then celebrated the end of the Battle of Gronder- the story Aimée will eventually learn of. Will she look at Felix with judgment in her eyes? Or will she understand? What questions will she ask him and Sylvain? Will she ask at all?

Sylvain halts and squeezes his hand. ‘I think it was here.’ Felix hums, pulling up his tunic to kneel down on the earth. He then raises one hand, and Sylvain gently presses the small bouquet of chamomile and forget-me-nots against Felix’s palm.

Felix holds it with both his hands, strokes the flowers, and leaves them on the soil. There is little ceremony, no music, no one watching bar Sylvain, yet the entire world seems to be holding its breath.

In that split second, while the world waits on him for once, it all comes back to him: the smell of death on the battlefield, Dimitri’s last desperate groan, his father’s sad eyes the last time he saw him alive, the cold nights away from Sylvain’s arms, the first time he got to hold Aimée in his arms, and the touch of the sun on his skin when he walked down the carriage and into the field.

‘Rest well,’ Felix mutters, eyes closed, to all of those friends and loved ones that are resting under the earth. But especially for one, the one that once meant the world for him. ‘Dimitri.’

The wind blows again, and the sun keeps walking its way around the skies. Felix stands, pulled by Sylvain’s hand, and squeezes it to get his attention.

‘Felix?’

Felix inhales through his nose and exhales from his mouth. He can do this. Now he can ask this without the weight of guilt and the dead on his shoulders.

‘Sylvain,’ he murmurs, and notices him inching closer. ‘There’s something I want to ask.’

His thumb strokes Felix’s hand, tender and kind as always. ‘What is it, Fe?’

Words have always been difficult for Felix, but during moments like these, even the most practiced of sentences is tricky to drag out of his throat. 

‘Would you- Would you marry me?’

If only he could see Sylvain’s face, then he wouldn’t have to suffer through these few seconds of silent torture. He wants to see if he’s surprised, smiling, or disappointed. 

‘Ah, Felix,’ his voice sounds choked, and his free hand catches Felix’s. ‘Yes. Yes, I will- I want to marry you. Goddess, I want nothing more, Fe.’

_Thank Sothis_ , Felix thinks, smiling when Sylvain puts their foreheads together. 

* * *

The third time Ignatz visits northern Faerghus, it’s to go to Fraldarius. The Duke turns out to be a middle aged man with short, wavy hair, with a vague resemblance to Felix himself and a serene smile on his face. He didn’t know Felix had an uncle up to this point, but he had never been one to share personal details back when they were in the same class and army. He had always been a distant ally, and, Sylvain aside, he had only seen him interact with the Professor and a couple other people. 

He leaves his belongings in the bedroom assigned to him, politely thanking the service before starting to unpack. As he does, he notices someone peeking inside his room: A familiar child with blue hair and curious brown eyes that stare at him like he just fell from the sky in front of her.

‘Hello,’ he salutes, kneeling down to be at her eye level. ‘You’re Aimée, aren’t you?’

The little girl nods effusively. ‘Yes! I am Aimée,’ she replies, in the tone of someone that has practiced that line plenty of times.

‘I’m Ignatz. I’m your fathers’ friend.’ 

‘Inaz,’ she repeats, nodding to herself. ‘Inaz.’

‘That’s... right enough. Do you know where your fathers are?’

‘Papa?’ She tilts her head. ‘Or baba?’

‘Er…’

‘Aimée!’ Ignatz recognizes that voice to be Sylvain’s, and Aimée gasps before running inside the room and hiding behind the door. ‘Too late, young lady! I’ve seen you!’

Sylvain looks into the room, smirking. ‘Oh, Ignatz!’ He extends a hand to him, and Ignatz shakes it. ‘Have you seen a certain little girl around here? She’s very good at hide-and-seek,’ Aimée giggles behind the door, ‘so I could use some help.’

‘I’m afraid I have no idea where she can be,’ Ignatz steps back, letting Sylvain search the room. 

Sylvain looks behind the door, and Aimée shrieks. ‘There you are!’ He picks her up in his arms, looking back at Ignatz. ‘Did you say hello to Ignatz?’

‘Hewwo, Inaz!’

Ignatz waves at her, noticing then the engagement ring on Sylvain’s hand. ‘How are the preparations for the wedding going?’

‘Smoothly. Felix is taking care of some details right now… The attire is done, though, so we can get to that portrait soon.’ Aimée shifts on his arms, bothered, and Sylvain leaves her on the floor. ‘I’ll go tell him you arrived… Do you want to come with me, princess?’ 

She nods, rushing out of the room followed by her father. Ignatz goes after them. 

* * *

‘He… f- fi… fi-n…’

Aimée mutters something under her breath, and Felix grins. ‘Finds?’

‘Finds!’ She yells happily, and goes back to the book Felix holds in front of her. ‘He… fin… ds… he… geg...’

That doesn’t sound very correct, but the gibberish is followed by a long, deep yawn. Aimée curls up in his lap, and Felix huffs. ‘Do you want to sleep?’

‘Nnno… No sleeb,’ she whines, yawning once again. ‘The… geg… The… uhm...’

Felix rubs her back, holding the book open for just a little longer, until her breath turns slower and heavier. Slowly, he closes the book, stretching to leave it on a nearby table. He carefully puts a blanket over the sleeping toddler, stroking her hair.

The hinges of the door creak, and there is only one person Felix is waiting for.

‘How is my little prin-’ Felix shushes him immediately, and Aimée shifts on his lap. ‘Oops… Sorry. I bring you something, Fe.’

‘What’s it?’

‘How about you try to guess?’ He suggests, offering Felix a cup, and he takes in the strong smell of the beverage. It’s warm, and the taste is deeply bitter and enjoyable. There are bitter teas out there, but this isn’t it: this is too thick to be tea at all.

‘Hm… Is it the famous Dagda coffee?’

Felix can picture the smirk on Sylvain’s face when he replies. ‘Indeed.’

Sylvain pulls a couch close to Felix’s and sits there, sighing heavily as he does. For a while, they sit in comfortable silence, listening to the fire crackling in front of them. After Felix is done with the coffee, he puts away the cup, and his free hand hangs from the armchair.

Sylvain’s hand rises to meet his, interlacing their fingers.

* * *

* * *

**Sylvain José Gautier - Sincerest of knights**

**Felix Hugo Fraldarius - Meandering sword**

_Sylvain José Gautier and Felix Hugo Fraldarius were wed and governed together over Gautier territory wisely and efficiently. They raised their children with no care for their Crests, loving them all equally. Lady Aimée became margravine at twenty-five, but her fathers remained by her side as advisors. Felix and Sylvain spent their well-earned retirement developing the first strokes of a system that would help blind people read and write, going down in history._

_Sylvain died of old age, and Felix followed him merely a week after._

_As if conceding that one could not live without the other._

**Author's Note:**

> I have [a Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ostodvandi) where I yell about Fire Emblem and other things all day.


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